Little Immortals
by Jlbrew28
Summary: Richie and Methos have a 'little' accident. Can Mac care for a seven year old? Can Conner handle a 5,000 year old teenager? Read to find out... Warning:Spanking.
1. A 'Little' Accident

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 1: A 'Little' Accident**

A loud knocking awoke Duncan MacLeod from the deep sleep he'd been in.

It was a dark and stormy night, the weather outside was abysmal, so why would _anyone_ get their ass out in it?

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he shouted to whoever was pounding at the door to his loft.

Stumbling out of bed, naked as was his custom these days, he quickly pulled on the jeans he'd discarded earlier and made his way to the door.

Opening it, he found himself face to face with Joe Dawson. He frowned.

"Joe?" he asked, confused. "It's raining cats-n-dogs out and it's two in the morning! What the hell is it!?"

His Watcher merely sighed, leaning on his cane. "Believe me, Mac," he told him, "if this hadn't been so damn important I wouldn't be here."

Mac nodded, knowing that was true. He sighed. "Well then, what's so damn important?" he asked, rubbing his tired eyes.

"We've got a situation," Joe stated, shaking his head. "A big one..."

"Okay," Mac said, even more puzzled. "A situation involving...?"

"Methos and Richie," Joes stated, firmly.

Mac sighed. Of course it would involve one of/both of those two. "What's happened?" he asked, wearily.

Did he even want to know?

They were both still alive, weren't they?

The thought of Richie...

No, he wouldn't think like that; at least, not until Joe confirmed it or not.

"See for yourself," Joe said, and stepped aside to reveal to kids standing behind him.

One was a gangly fifteen year old with dark brown hair and eyes...and a familiar looking face!

The other was a cherubic seven year old with reddish-blonde curls...and an even more familiar looking face!

"Richie!" MacLeod gasped, and then looked at the teenager beside the seven year old. "Methos?"

Neither boy looked at him, merely nodded in affirmation that they were who he thought they were.

MacLeod looked back at Joe. "I think we'd better go inside," the Watcher told him.

The four hundred Immortal Highlander nodded, still dumb-struck by what he was seeing.

Stepping aside, he watched as the two boys—whom he had known yesterday as a 5,000 year old and a 21 year old—made their way past him and into his loft.

Joe followed, patting him on the shoulder, and then strolled to sit on the sofa along with the boys.

MacLeod sighed, and closed the door. Taking a deep breath, he made his way over to them.

"All right," he asked, "what the HELL happened!?"

The little boy he was sure was Richie winced at his raised voice, but he continued to stare at the floor...as did the teenager.

Mac looked at Joe, who sighed. "As far as we can tell," he said, "one of the Cronus crystals was involved."

"Okay," MacLeod said, "but that still doesn't explain how..."

"It's my fault, all right!" the little boy, Richie, exclaimed tearfully. "I'm the one that found the stupid thing!"

"What do you mean you found it?" MacLeod asked, raising an eyebrow at his...uh...student.

"Yesterday," Richie told him, "I was runnin' that errand for you, Mac, and I saw this weird lookin' crystal in a window. I thought it was cool, so I asked the guy what he'd give me for it. He said it'd been there awhile, and he was more than ready to get rid of it, so I said twenty bucks and he said all right. I was gonna show it to you, but..."

He shrugged. "I forgot..."

"Okay, Rich," MacLeod soothed, seeing that the boy was highly upset. Who wouldn't be, after all?

He looked at the now much younger Methos. "Where do you come into the equation?" he asked the oldest living Immortal, curious.

The sullen looking teen snorted. "I was at Joe's tonight when the kid came in," he said, his tone sarcastic, "thought I'd go over and cheer the kid up a bit—he looked a tad down, ya know."

MacLeod turned concerned eyes upon the other boy. "About what?" he asked, frowning.

Richie sighed. "Me and Maggie broke up," he admitted, sadly. "I was gonna give her the crystal..."

MacLeod sighed. Of course, this would involve a girl somehow...with Richie, it was _always_ about a girl.

"What then?" he asked, curious. He was now looking between the two youths questioningly.

"So I was tryin' to cheer the nipper up," Methos continued explaining, "giving him the ole 'there's still plenty of fish in the sea' speech, like an idiot, when he pulled that stupid thing out of his pocket to let me see."

"That's when lightning struck," Joe put in, wincing. "Blew my circuit breaker all to hell, too!"

"It got dark," Richie put in, "except for..."

"The crystal," Methos groaned, "we were both holding it at the time. It started glowing and glowing..."

"And when the lights came back on," Joe told him, "they were like this." He nodded at the boys.

"How do you know it's a Cronus crystal?" Mac asked, puzzled. "Do you still have it?"

Methos snorted. "Of course we still have it, MacLeod," he snarled, sneeringly. "What do you take us for? Idiotic Highlanders!?"

Mac glared at. Okay, he [Methos] had a right to be upset but that was hitting below the belt. He kept his temper in check...but only just.

"All I meant was can I see it?" he asked, holding out his hand. "I've actually seen a Cronus stone before, remember?"

Joe reached into his pocket and brought out the name blackened crystal. Mac took it and examined it.

It did, indeed, look like the crystal Rebecca had worn around her neck for nearly 5 Centuries.

"It certainly looks like one," he said, turning the blackened stone over, "but whatever power it had it's obviously caput now."

Methos snorted. "Ya think?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

Mac started to snap at him, but Richie sniffling got his attention.

The little boy looked at him with those large blue eyes, eyes that even as a twenty one year old; he'd had a hard time resisting.

"We're stuck like this?" he asked, tears welling in his eyes. "Forever?!"

Even though the crystal had apparently made them younger, they both were still in fact Immortal—which would mean that if they did not find a way to fix them, they would indeed remain as they were forever...unless...

No! Mac wouldn't even think of it.

Kneeling down in front of the little boy he already loved like a son, he placed his hands on his shoulders and said, "We'll find a way to fix this, Rich. I promise."

"What if we can't?" the boy asked, tears leaking from his eyes.

MacLeod used his thumbs to wipe them away, as he stared into large blue eyes firmly.

"No matter what, Tough Guy," he told him, gently. "I'll take care of you. Always."

Richie nodded, trusting him. Mac had always taken care of him. He knew he would now, too.

"Well, that's all and well for the nipper," Methos growled, sulking, "but that doesn't do me a rat's ass lot of good..."

Mac rolled his eyes. For the world's oldest Immortal, he sure was acting like a brat right now.

"I'll look after both of you," he promised firmly.

Methos snorted. "I'm quite capable of taking care of myself, MacLeod," he told him. "I was doing it long before you were in nappies and I'll probably still be doing it when you've met your match, so if you'll excuse me..."

He stood up as if to leave. "...I'll just be going home now."

Mac stood up with him, putting a restraining hand on his now much youthful shoulder.

"Be reasonable," he growled, sternly. "It's late and it's pouring. Nobody is going anywhere tonight..."

He looked at Joe. "...you can take the spare room, Methos can crash here on the couch, and Richie can sleep with me."

Richie wrinkled his nose. "I'm not some little kid, Mac...uh...well..." He blushed.

Mac grinned. "It'll only be for tonight, Tough Guy," he promised him. "You don't snore, do ya?"

Richie grinned. "Not as loud as you," he told him, cheekily.

Mac smiled. "Highlanders don't snore, laddie," he told him, teasing. "We simply breathe heavily, that's all."

"Call it whatever you want," Methos sulked, "s'long as it doesn't wake me up."

Mac rolled his eyes. "I'll get you some blankets," he told him. "Rich, go ahead and hop into bed. Joe..."

The Watcher was already up and moving.

"I think I know where the spare room is, Mac," he told him, smirking. "Night!"

After getting Methos bedded down for the night, Mac once more stripped off his jeans and crawled under the covers.

Richie, his cherub-looking face a peaceful countenance, slumbered gently on the other side, obviously exhausted by the night's events.

Of course, who wouldn't be...

He smiled down at him, reaching down to move a stray lock of reddish-blonde curl from his eyes.

"Sleep tight, Tough Guy," he said, smirking. "I think tomorrow is going to be one hell of a day!"

Then, with the rain pouring down by the bucketfuls and the sound of thunder in the distance, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod fell once more into a deep sleep.

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	2. Breakfast Table Melee

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 2: Breakfast Table Melee  
**

The next morning dawned bright and clear, and Mac awoke hoping (and praying) that last night's events had been nothing more than a very bad dream.

Sadly, looking over at the still slumbering, cherub-looking seven year old with now very messy blonde curls and drool dribbling down his chin, he knew it was anything but.

He sighed. Getting up carefully, so as not to wake the slumbering youth, he put on his jeans and made his way over to the sofa.

Sure enough, laying half on/half off of it with one leg thrown over the back of it was Methos—looking every bit of fifteen instead of his usual thirty years—and snoring so loudly that he was surprised the roof had not started lifting off its base.

He sighed, again. Shaking his head, he made his way over to the kitchen and started making coffee.

It had just finished brewing when Joe hobbled out of the spare bedroom and made his way over to one of the bar stools and sat down, staring at the coffee expectantly.

"Sleep well?" he asked his old friend and Watcher, as he poured him a steaming cup of the strong black beverage.

Joe shrugged. "So, so," he said, taking a sip. "That really hits the spot, Mac. Thanks."

Mac smirked, taking a sip from his own coffee mug. "You're welcome."

Joe twisted around, staring at the two youthful occupants of his sofa and his bed.

"I had hoped it was all a dream," he said, sighing.

Mac nodded. "Me, too," he told him, "but I think we'll have to face facts..."

Joe nodded. "Have you ever heard of anything like this, Mac?" he asked, curious. "In four hundred years?"

Mac shook his head. "'Fraid not," he admitted, honestly, "but Conner may have. I'll give him a call."

Joe nodded. "I'll start making some phone calls too," he said, "I still have a few old friends in the archives. Maybe they can dig something up on the Stones..."

Mac nodded. "Maybe," he said, quietly, "but in the mean time..."

Joe chuckled. "In the meantime, my friend," he told him, grinning, "you've got your hands full!"

Mac snorted, rolling his eyes. "Tell me about it," he huffed. "Richie is one thing...but Methos and Richie together...!?"

"You could always call in reinforcements," Joe suggested, smirking. "How about Amanda?"

Mac gave him a withering look. "Are you kidding?" he asked. "She'd only make things worse...no, I'll look after them on my own for now. If I need help, I'll call someone I can count on not to act like a kid herself..."

Joe nodded. "Good point," he said, draining the last of his coffee out of his mug. "Well, I guess I'd better be going. Get started on those phone calls..."

He sat his mug on the counter and hopped up. "You need me, just holler," he told MacLeod seriously.

"I will," Mac promised, smirking.

Joe took one final look at the slumbering boys and then headed for the stairs. He would have used the lift, but the noise might have awakened them prematurely and he figured Mac would need a little while longer to ready his battle plan.

Mac finished his coffee, rinsed out both his and Joe's mugs, and then went to get some clean underwear.

He normally would have gone for a run first thing in the morning, but didn't think leaving Richie and Methos alone together, in their current states, would be such a good idea so he simply headed into the bathroom for a shower.

Coming back out ten minutes later, he found the boys were still snoozing deeply so he decided to put some clothes and started breakfast.

When the smell of eggs and back began wafting throughout the loft; that was when the occupants of the bed and sofa began to stir.

Richie was the first to fully awaking. Sitting up in bed, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and blinked as his wide blue eyes fell upon MacLeod.

"Mac?" he asked, still a little dazed.

MacLeod looked up from where he was dishing eggs onto three plates, and smiled.

"Morning, Tough Guy," he greeted, gently. "How are you feeling this morning?"

The boy shrugged. "I'm fine, Mac," he told him, yawning, "but you'll never guess the wild dream I had last night..."

Mac stilled. Raising an eyebrow, he asked hesitantly, "Oh, what was it about?"

Richie scratched his head. "It was weird," he said, shrugging. "Something about this crystal and lightening, and then me and the Old Timer—and you're gonna love this, Mac!—we got turned into kids! I mean, real kids, Mac, like..."

His voice trailed off as he got out of bed and looked down at his feet, and the rest of him. He looked up at Mac with wide eyes.

Mac winced. "Sorry, Tough Guy," he said, sympathetically, "but I'm afraid it wasn't a dream."

"Wha—?" a groan from the sofa had them looking in that direction as Methos opened his eyes and sat up.

He blinked at them. "Tell me I was bloody well dreamin'?" he begged, standing up. "Last night really didn't happenin', did it?"

Mac grimaced. "Sorry," he said, shrugging.

"Sorry? That's all you can say, MacLeod!?" 5,000 year old teenager growled at him. "Sorry!"

"What else should I say, Methos?" Mac asked him, bringing the three plates over to the table. "Now, how about you come over here and eat some breakfast..."

"Breakfast!" Methos grumbled. "I don't want bloody breakfast! I want to fix this! Now!"

"Well, we can't," Mac told him, "and you still need to eat, so..."

Richie started for the table, but Methos levelled a pointed a finger at him. "This is all your fault, you little wart!" he growled and lunged at the younger looking boy.

Richie, who had always been fast on his feet, dodged easily and began running around the room. "Mac! A little help here! He's gonna kill me!"

"Oh, I'm gonna do more than that," Methos growled, chasing the younger boy. "First I'm gonna stuff your head down the toilet, then I'm gonna cut off all your fingers and toes, and then I'm gonna fillet them, and then I'm gonna rip out all your bones, and _then_ and only then will I cut off your miserable head. So, hold still!"

Again, he lunged for him and again he [Richie] dodged, causing him to collide with one of MacLeod's shelves nearly knocking off a priceless antique.

"All right, that's enough," Mac growled, annoyed. "Both of you come sit down and eat. Right now!"

Methos snorted. "I'll sit when I'm good and ready, MacLeod," he growled at him, "and not 'til I've dealt with this little worm!"

Richie again dodged him grabbing him, squealing, "Macccccc!"

Mac scooped him up under one arm and then grabbed a charging Methos by the front of his shirt.

"I said that was enough," he growled, annoyed. "We _are_ going to sit down and eat, and that's final!"

He headed for the table, taking his two hostages with him. Plopping Richie down into a chair, he dragged Methos to the other side of the table and held out a chair.

"Sit," he ordered, firmly.

Methos jerked out of his hold. "Appearances to the contrary, MacLeod," he growled, "I'm not a child and I won't be treated as one..."

"Methos," Mac levelled him with a stern look, "What supposedly grown man in his right mind would chase a little boy around a room so he could then proceed to and I quote 'stuff his head down the toilet'—among other things?"

Methos glared at him. He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

The teenager gave in first. "Fine," he huffed, plopping down into the chair with all of the belligerence of a disgruntled adolescent.

Richie smirked. "Guess Mac told you, huh?" he gloated, earning a scathing glare from the older looking boy.

Mac narrowed his eyes at him. "Richie," he warned, sternly. "Shut up and eat your breakfast."

Breakfast, needless to say, was a silent affair. None of them spoke, everybody glared, and many swear words were mouthed.

Finally, it was over and Mac had ordered, "Methos, make yourself useful. Wash the dishes."

"Me!?" the teenager exclaimed, indignant. "They're your bloody dishes, MacLeod, you damn well wash them yourself!"

Mac sighed. "Methos, I'll give you a choice," he told him, holding onto his patience with an effort, "it's either you wash the dishes or you scrub the bathroom floor with your tongue..."

The world's oldest immortal had the sourest expression on his face for all of about five seconds before he grumbled, "Fine. I'll wash the stinkin' dishes."

Getting up, he started gathering up the plates and glasses—and none too gently, either.

Mac scowled. "You break 'em and I break you," he growled.

Methos glared. Richie smirked. MacLeod frowned.

"Rich, give 'im a hand," he ordered. "He'll wash and you'll dry. At least I can count on you not to drop them deliberately."

That wiped the smugness off the younger looking boy's face. "But, Mac—" he started to protest.

"Now, Richard!" the Highlander growled, sternly, causing the kid to jump.

"All right, all right," he stammered, hopping up, and quickly scooping up the silverware to take to the sink, "I'm going!"

Mac sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

It was going to be a long day.

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	3. A Shopping We Will Go

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 3: A Shopping We Will Go**

"We're gonna do what?" Richie asked, once the dishes were washed, dried, and put away.

Mac, who put on a t-shirt and his boots, shrugged into his coat as he said, "We're going shopping. We need to get you two some clothes and also—since we don't know how long this is going to last—some more food."

"But, Mac," Richie protested, "I've already got tons of clothes!"

Mac snorted. "And none of those fit you at the moment, Rich," he reminded the boy. "I'm not even sure where you got what your wearing..."

"That stupid crystal," Methos grumbled, sourly. "When it shrunk us, it shrunk the clothes we were wearing, too."

Mac nodded, understanding. "Well, you can't go around wearing those every day," he said, smirking. "So, let's go."

He headed for the lift, pushing the gate open and looking at the two boys expectantly. "C'mon."

With a resigned sigh, the two youths stepped into the lift and Mac followed, closing the gate behind him and hitting the 'down' button.

"Hey, Mac," Richie said, eyeing him speculatively.

"Yeah, Rich?" he asked, glancing down at the now much younger kid.

"What if we meet someone?" he asked. "You know...one of us? What do we do then?"

MacLeod knew the kid had a right to worry; there was no way he, possibly not even Methos, could face a full grown Immortal in his current condition and possibly hope to win—not without fighting dirty like that little twerp Kenny—but he knew exactly what to tell him to reassure him.

"I'll take care of it, Tough Guy," he told him. "I promise."

Methos snorted. "Give me a break," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

The lift stopped and they got out and headed for the exit of the dojo.

Mac opened the door of the T-Bird for them, and said, "Back seat, both of you."

"What? I'm not good enough to ride in the front seat anymore?" Methos asked, scowling.

"No," Mac told him, "but Richie's no longer able to and so it's not fair if he can't and you can."

"And it's all about poor little Richie, isn't MacLeod?" the 5,000 year old was close to pouting and it wasn't a really good look for him.

Mac counted to ten slowly in Russian. Then he did it again in Mandarin Chinese.

"Just keep in the car, Methos," he growled, "and shut the hell up!"

"Fine," the oldest Immortal huffed, "whatever!"

Mac shook his head. Yep, it was going to be a long day.

"Hop in, Rich," he instructed the younger boy. "We're burning day light here."

"Why can't I ride in the front seat anymore?" the kid asked, scowling.

Mac again counted to ten slowly.

"Because, your now a bit on the short side," he reminded him, "and there are laws about kids riding in the front seat."

This only increased the scowl on the youngster's face, rather than decreasing it.

"I ain't a kid, Mac," he growled, stubbornly.

Mac smirked. "You've always been a kid to me, Rich," he told him, affectionately, "but I'm afraid I don't intend on getting a ticket just because of your wounded pride. Now, you can either hop in the back or I'll stuff you in the trunk..."

"You wouldn't," Richie scowled.

Mac raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked, grinning. "Wouldn't I?"

Richie scuffed a small sneaker on the ground. "This sucks," he grumbled, as he climbed into the back seat of the car. "Next you'll be telling me to sit in a booster seat."

Mac closed the door. "Keep it up," he told him, "and it'll be a baby-seat."

That shut the kid up...for a little while.

Mac got in, started her up, and then pulled out of the dojo headed for the downtown mall.

Once there, he parked and they headed inside.

Pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, he took out a couple of hundreds and handed them to Methos.

The oldest Immortal scowled at the bills.

"I don't need your money, MacLeod," he growled at him, stubbornly. "I've got my own credit card, thanks."

"And you think the shop clerks won't think it strange that a seemingly fifteen year old has his own credit card?" the Highlander asked him, raising an eyebrow.

Methos snorted. "You think I give a flying fart what they think?" he asked, sarcastically.

"I think you would if they called security and had you arrested for trying to use a 'stolen' credit card," he told him, seriously. "Just take the damn money, Methos. You can pay me back later if you want to!"

"Fine," the 5,000 year old grumbled, snatching the bills from his hand.

Mac sighed. "Can I count on you not to get into any trouble?" he asked. "And to meet us back here in an hour or so—with clothes in hand?"

Methos rolled his eyes. "MacLeod, I swear you're the biggest Boy Scout I've ever met," he mouthed, sarcastically. "Yes, I'll be just fine shopping on my own. I've done it before, you know."

"I know," Mac told him, "but you weren't a sarcastic teenager before, either."

"Sure, rub it in. Whatever." He started to head off in the opposite direction.

Mac grabbed his upper arm and forced him to look at him.

"One hour, Methos," he said, sternly, "and _don't_ make me have to come looking for you. Understand?"

Methos sighed. "One hour," he said, resigned. "I'll be here. Now, may I go?"

Mac let go of his arm and watched him head down the mall toward one of the 'trendier' clothing stores that seemed to have teenagers as their clientele.

Relax, MacLeod, Mac told himself, inside that brat there's a grown man...I think.

Placing a hand on Richie's shoulder, he said, "C'mon, Rich. Let's go get you some clothes."

Together, they headed down toward the other end of the mall.

The boy absolutely balked at going anywhere near Gap Kids or any of the other 'kid' friendly stores, so they ended up in one of the larger department stores in their boys' section.

"Let's get pants first, " Mac suggested to the boy, "then we'll worry about shirts and stuff."

Richie nodded, and then began searching through racks of jeans.

He found several that he liked, but due to the fact they really didn't know what his size was at the moment, he had to go try all of them on 'til he found the ones that fit.

"This is totally embarrassing," he told Mac, as they were in the dressing room, "I haven't had to have anybody come with me since I was...uh.." He blushed.

Mac smirked. "Since you were seven," he guessed, grinning. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Tough Guy. We're both guys, aren't we?"

Richie nodded. "Yeah, I guess so," he said, sighing.

"You guess so?" Mac asked. "What's that supposed to mean? Either were both guys or one of us is gender confused...and I know it isn't me."

Richie rolled his eyes. "Funny, Mac," he said, sarcastically. "This is just so weird, you know..."

Mac nodded. Of course he knew how weird it was...

"I know, Tough Guy," he told him, "but we're gonna figure this all out. Somehow."

Richie nodded. "Okay, I think these fit," he said, pointing to the blue jean he had just tried on.

Mac held them up to him and then nodded in agreement.

"I think so too," he said, "now the shirts shouldn't be a problem...nor shoes...so that just leaves...um..."

"Leaves what?" Richie asked, curious.

Mac smirked. "Underwear and socks," he said, knowingly.

Richie's eyes widened in horror. "Oh, no!" he moaned. "Kill me now, please!"

Mac chuckled. "Both guys, remember?" he reminded the boy. "Besides, I think after these last few years I know your preference. Boxers, right?"

Richie blushed, but nodded. "None of those cartoony ones, though," he growled, "okay?"

Mac held up his right hand. "You have my word as a Scotsman," he told him, seriously. "Tidy whities, all the way."

Richie snorted, and then burst out laughing. So did Mac.

Their laughter was cut short, however, when a mall security officer came up to them.

"Excuse me, Sir," the uniformed officer said, "but are you Duncan MacLeod?"

Mac frowned. "Yes," he said, "I am. Why?"

"Did you come in with a young man of about fifteen?" the mall cop asked. "Brown hair, brown eyes, really bad attitude?"

Mac sighed. "What did he do?" he asked, not sure he really wanted to know.

"He tried to bribe the bartender of one of the bars-n-grills to sell him a beer," the man told him.

Mac winced. Methos, when I get my hands on you!

"I take it he's in your custody at the moment?" he asked the man, who nodded.

"Good, can you keep him 'til I come get him?"

"Of course, sir," the mall cop said, smirking. "Want him to stew on things for a bit?"

Mac smirked, this man obviously had teenagers at home.

"Something like that," he said, grinning. "It won't be long. Thirty minutes, tops."

The officer nodded. "You can come retrieve him at the security office," he told him, and then turned and headed out of the store.

Glancing at Richie, he saw that the boy was smiling broadly.

"I don't think this is so funny, Tough Guy," he told him, sourly.

"I do," Richie told him, laughing. "You thought _I_ was a handful! The Old Timer's got me beat by a mile!"

Mac groaned. Could Immortals get white hair?

Well, if they could, his head would be full of 'em by the time this was over...

Of that, he was sure.

"All right, Rich," he told him, "you go pick you out some t-shirts, none too big, while I go get you some underwear and socks. Your shoes will have to do for now."

Richie nodded. "Sure thing, Mac," he said, "but what then?"

Mac narrowed his eyes. "Then," he growled, "we go collect our little jail bird."

Richie's eyes widened.

Boy, he sure wouldn't want to be Methos when Mac gets a hold of him.

Of that, _he_ was sure.

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	4. Trouble with a Capital T

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 4: Trouble with a Capital T**

Methos was not a happy camper as he sat, surrounded by beer-bellied buffoons in uniforms who thought of themselves as 'law-enforcement' officers.

He snorted. Give me a break! And where the hell is MacLeod?

Just then, he felt the buzz of a—make that _two_—Immortals and he breathed a sigh of relief...

Finally!

...that was short lived as he caught a glimpse of the Scotsman's face.

Uh-oh. This didn't bode well...

"Is he free to go?" Mac asked the security guards. "The bartender isn't going to press charges?"

"Oh, no sir," the guards assured him, "nothing like that. He wouldn't be the first snot-nosed kid to try something like this...and he won't be the last, you can be sure."

"Well, it _will_ be the last time he tries anything like this," Mac told him, eyeing the older Immortal sternly, "I can promise you that."

Methos scowled. What did the damn Boy Scout mean by that exactly?

If he thought he was going to act all parental and high handed, he had another thing coming.

He snorted. I'll shove my sword so far up his arse that he'll...

The Highlander grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him toward the door pulled him out of his musings.

"Let's go, son," Mac growled, in a no nonsense tone of voice. "We still have shopping to do."

Once outside the office, Methos jerked out of his hold.

"Took you long enough," he grumbled, sourly.

Mac's eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't right now, Methos," he growled at him. "My patience is thin, and so help me..."

"You'll what?" Methos asked, rolling his eyes. "Spank me?" He snorted at the very idea.

Mac raised an eyebrow. "I just might," he told him, seriously. "Now, where's the money I gave you?"

"What makes you think those idiots didn't take it from me?" the 5,000 year old teenager asked, crossing his arms.

"Spare me," Mac rolled his eyes. "Now, hand it over."

Methos scowled. "Fine," he growled, handing over the two hundred dollar bills. "Guess I'll have to make do with these duds."

Mac smirked. "Wrong," he told him. "While you were considering the error of your ways, Rich and I already got some things for you. Let's go. We need to go grocery shopping..."

"I'm not about to wear anything the two of you picked out!" Methos growled stubbornly.

Mac shrugged. "Then you should have been picking out your own 'stead of trying to bribe a bartender," he told him, firmly. "Now, let's go."

He and Richie turned to head toward the exit, but Methos still refused to budge.

He muttered something _very_ rude under his breath, but it was still loud enough for MacLeod to hear it.

Stopping, he sat the bags down and said, "Wait here a minute, Rich. Methos and I need to have a little chat."

Then, before the older Immortal knew what was happening, he was practically lifted off the ground by the scruff of the neck and dragged towards the bathrooms.

Once inside, he found himself pressed against the wall and then...

_SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!_

...five stinging swats landed on his backside, causing him to yelp in surprise.

He was then turned back around to face a very irate Highlander.

"I don't give a damn that you're _supposed_ to be the oldest living Immortal," Mac growled at him, "and I don't care that you're _supposed_ to be 5,000 years old because if you don't lose the attitude in the next five seconds so help me, Methos, I will blister the seat of your pants so hard you won't be sitting down anytime in the next century! DO YOU UNDERSTAN' ME!?"

With each word, the Highlander's Scottish brogue had grown noticeably thicker, as had the vein throbbing in his forehead.

Methos gulped.

He had once ridden with three of the evillest, most sadistic, and absolutely scariest Immortals that ever walked on the face of the earth, but none of them instilled as much fear in him as MacLeod had in that moment.

Okay, so he had been pushing things a bit, he admitted that, but did all that really warrant this!?

The man was treating him like a child, for heaven's sakes!

"C'mon, MacLeod," he said, hesitantly, "be reasonable..."

"One," Mac said, "and I have been reasonable, Methos. You've done nothing but act like a snot-nosed little brat since you walked through my door last night..."

"Don't you think I have a right to be upset that my life has gone to Hell in a hand basket?" he asked, scowling.

"Two," Mac continued counting, "and yes, I do. What you don't have the right to do is take it out on me, Richie, or anybody else."

"I was only trying to buy a lousy beer!" Methos exclaimed, indignantly. "What was wrong with that?"

"Three," Mac held up three fingers, "and you knew perfectly well given how you look right now that no sane bartender would sell you a beer so why even try it?"

The oldest living Immortal growled in frustration.

"Because I'm 5,000 freakin' years old!" he yelled at him. "I think I'm more than capable of purchasing alcohol if I want it."

"Four," Mac said, "and you may be five thousand years old, but your currently in the body of a fifteen year old! You need to start remembering that or you're gonna find yourself in worse trouble than you're already in!"

Methos sighed. "As Richie said, 'this sucks'." He sighed.

"Five," Mac held up all five fingers. "So, you gonna lose the attitude? Start listening?"

Methos grimaced. "At the risk of you making good on your promise to pummel my arse good and proper," he told him, smirking, "I suppose I don't have any choice, do I?"

Mac returned the smirk. "At the moment, no," he told him. "Sorry, Ole Timer." He shrugged.

Methos sighed, reaching back to rub his still stinging backside.

"You have a hard hand, MacLeod," he told him, as they made their way out of the bathroom.

"Conner's is harder," he told him, smirking. "Believe me on that."

Speaking of Conner...

I think I'm going to give him a call, Mac thought, something tells me I'm going to need the help.

Getting back to Richie, he picked up their bags and said, "Let's go, we still need to hit the grocery store."

Together, the three of them made their way towards the exit of the mall.

Methos couldn't help but sigh. MacLeod had been right.

It had been a long day.

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	5. Conner

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 5: Connor **

After obtaining enough groceries to feed most people a month, but would probably only last them two weeks at the most, Mac and the boys headed back to the loft.

As they walked into the dojo, they all felt the unmistakable sensation that came with being an Immortal.

All three froze. Methos levelled Mac with a smirks. "Expecting anyone?" he asked, sarcastically.

Mac narrowed his eyes at him. "Don't start," he warned, his Katana appearing in his hand. "You two wait here."

Richie looked worried. "Mac," he said, quietly.

Mac put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Tough Guy," he said, smiling, "I'll be all right."

He then proceeded up to the loft via the lift. The moment it stopped, he glanced out but didn't see anyone.

Frowning, he stepped out and raised his sword expectantly.

The sound of glass clanking had him looking toward the kitchen where he noticed the refrigerator was open.

Okay, did the head hunter get hungry or something?

Wasn't rude to rummage through your opponents fridge?

That was when his 'opponent' came up from his scavenger hunt and turned toward him.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief and lowered his Katana.

"Connor," he growled, annoyed at his kinsman, "you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

The older Highlander chuckled. "Not likely, cousin," he told him. "You really need to go shopping." He pointed at the almost-bare fridge.

Mac rolled his eyes. "Where do you think I've been?" he asked, sarcastically.

Connor glanced at his more or less empty hands. "Nothing on sale?" he asked, smirking.

Mac resisted the urge to slap him across the head. "There down stairs," he growled. "I felt you, dropped 'em, and then ran up here."

Connor again chuckled. "Need some help brining 'em up?" he asked, amused.

"That's okay," Mac told him, grinning, "the boys will do it."

"Boys? Conner asked, frowning.

Mac grinned. "You'll see," he said, "and actually that's one reason I'm rather glad to see you. I was gonna call you, in fact."

He called down to the boys that it was all right and for them to bring the groceries up.

The lift went down and came back up with them on it. As they stepped off, Richie grinned.

"Hey, it's Sir Lancelot!" he exclaimed, seeing Conner. "Long time no see."

Connor looked at Mac, who shrugged. "It's a long story," he said. "I'll tell you about it while we put the groceries. Boys, you go get the other shopping bags out of the car."

They groaned about it, of course, but a stern look sent them on their way.

"Was that...?" Conner asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Richie? Yep, that was," Mac told him, as he started to put the groceries away, "it a long story."

He started telling him all about it. Richie, the Cronus stone, Methos, all of it.

"Have you ever heard anything like this?" he asked, once he was finished.

Conner looked at him. "If you haven't," he said, smirking, "what makes you think I have?"

"Well," Mac said, managing to look sheepish, "you _are_ older than me...?"

Conner snorted. "Only by 70 years or so," he told him, rolling his eyes. "No, I've never heard anything like this. I mean, maybe Nakano may have...but he didn't tell me anything about it if he did, so..."

"He was the sorcerer, right?" Mac asked, for clarification.

After the deaths of his mentor, Ramirez, and his first wife, Heather, Conner had spent the next 70 years travelling around the world learning from various Immortals—one of which was the Japanese mystic, Nakano, who it had been rumoured was in fact an actual sorcerer with mystic powers.

Conner nodded. "That was him," he said, fondly. "A wryly bastard, he was too."

Mac smirked. "I can imagine," he said, and then sighed. "Joe's trying to find anything that might help, but in the mean time I'm dealing with a seven year old with the mind of a teenager and a teenager with 5,000 years worth of sarcasm to draw upon."

Conner reached into the newly stocked fridge and pulled out two beers, he handed one to his former student and clansman—who took it with a nod of thanks.

"No one ever said you led a boring life, Duncan," he commented, as the sound of the lift was heard signalling that the boys were returning.

Mac snorted. "Tell me about it," he said, rolling his eyes and then cast him a pleading look. "Stick around and help me out?"

"Surely you can handle two kids, Duncan?" Conner said, chuckling.

"Richie, yeah," Mac told him, "but I'm not so sure about Methos—he has no respect for me, Conner. He's 5,000 years old and to him he should be telling _me_ what to do rather than me telling him..."

"So, how would it be any different with me?" Conner asked, curious.

Mac gave him a look. "Please, Conner," he told him. "I was a full grown man and you didn't hesitate to wear out my backside, as I recall..."

_***_

_Scottish Highlands, 1590s_

_Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod was in a pensive mood._

_He had been stuck without any one, besides his Kinsman and Clansman Conner MacLeod, and he was fed up with it._

_He was thirsty, craved a bit of female company, and generally wanted to hear about something other than Immortals, swords, and beheading..._

_Therefore, he was even now on his way to one of the nearby villages that he knew had a rather good tavern with a rather good tap room._

_He was far enough from his old village that perhaps word of the 'demon-man' hadn't reached them; and besides, he didn't have to give his name._

_He had money to spend, so that was all the tavern keep would care about...and any bar wench who thought a nice roll in the hay would be nice._

_Knowing that Conner would probably say this wasn't a good idea, but not really caring at the moment, he whistled a happy tune as he rode into town._

_Hobbling his horse, he headed inside to the sounds of a right proper Highland barroom. _

_Everybody looked up at his entranced, as he expected them to, but then returned almost immediately to their drinks._

_He smiled. Great, this was looking to be a most productive evening..._

_He ordered his pint and took it to one of the back tables. Almost immediately, one of the bar wenches came over with a large smile on her face._

_She was a bonny lass, with fiery hair and ample bosom, and she obviously had set her cap for him._

_Well, that was more than all right with him. He smirked._

"_Well now, stranger," she said, her voice light and airy, "mind a bit o'company this fine evening."_

"_Indeed, I wouldna," he told her, smirking. He patted his lap. "Mind a sit down, lass?"_

_It was clear by her smouldering expression that she wouldn't mind a 'a bit of lie down' as well._

_Again, that was quite all right with him._

_Unfortunately, this giant brute of man—who looked about a dumb as a block of hay—had other ideas._

"_Hey now, wench," he staggered over to them, "wha' da ya think yer doin'!? Yer supposed to be mine tonight!"_

_The barmaid wrinkled her nose. "Oh, go sleep it off in a pig sty," she growled, then smirked at Duncan. "I've found better company tonight."_

"_Ya heard the lady, friend," Duncan told the brute, smugly. "Bugger off."_

_The large brutes' eyes nearly bulged from his socket. "Why you scrawny wanker," he slurred, drunkenly, "I'll teach you somethin' I will!"_

_Unfortunately, his productive evening went down hill from there and it kept going down hill as he was run out of town by an angry mob._

_He was only saved from a lynching, by Conner, he rode up and helped him onto his horse and then galloped off back to their camp site._

_Duncan's clansman was far from pleased as he shoved him off his horse and then towered over him._

"_What the HELL did you think you were doin', boyo?!" he asked him, angrily._

"_I thought I was gettin' a drink and then some more agreeable company," Duncan growled, picking himself up off the ground. "You're no prize to look at, ya know!"_

_This did nothing to help Conner's mood. "You great buffoon!" he growled. "Did I or did I not tell ya to stay near camp when I left!?"_

_Duncan made a rude noise. "I'm no child, Kinsman," he growled back at him. "I'll go and do whatever the hell I like when I bloody well feel like it."_

_Conner's eyes narrowed. "You will, will you?" he asked, scathingly. "We'll see about that, boyo."_

_Then, before Duncan had the chance to react, he found him grabbed by the back of his tunic and dragged to a nearby rock where Conner promptly sat down._

_Still not sure what was happening, he was more than a little surprised when he suddenly found himself looking at the ground from over his older kinsman's knee._

"_No! No bloody way!" he growled, attempting to get up as he felt the back of his kilt flipped up. _

"_Hold still, ya great Haggis," Conner snarled, grasping his middle more firmly. "You acted like a sullen child by going into that village, wanting only to do as you had been told not to and you know it. Ya got this comin', boyo, so no use fussin'."_

_He then proceeded to whale the tar out of his younger kinsman's exposed rear end._

_Duncan swore, thrashed about, and even tried to bite his way free but all that did was seem to increase the heavy handed blows that were landing on his naked posterior—which had begun to burn quite a bit by now._

"_All right! All right" he finally shouted, unable to bear any more. "I'm sorry, Conner! I won't disobey you again! Just stop, please"_

"_Aye, laddie," his older kinsman said, not stopping, "I know you won't."_

_Another fifteen hard blows landed, and by then Duncan no longer resembled the hot-headed proud Scottish warrior he was supposed to be but rather a sobbing little boy who had just been thoroughly thrashed for naughty behaviour._

_Once it was over, Conner unceremoniously dumped him on the ground and stood up. "From now on, boyo," he told him, sternly, "if I have ta treat you like a wee one and give ya a good thrashin' I will. Yer too important to me, Duncan, to just go throwin' your life and freedom away like that. Understand?"_

_Duncan, still trying to get control of his leaking eyes, nodded vehemently. "Aye, Kinsman," he said, respectfully, "I do."_

_For the first time, Conner smiled a genuine smile. "C'mon, boyo, get off your duff then and let's see to supper," he said, casually. "I don't know about you, but I am starvin'..."_

_Duncan nodded, and did as he was told._

_***_

Conner chuckled, remembering that particular incident very well.

"I see your point," he said. "You're saying it won't matter to me that Methos is supposed to be the oldest Immortal or 5,000 years old. He acts like a brat, I'll treat him like one and give him the thrashing he needs. Eh?"

Mac nodded. "You got it," he said, glancing as the boys brought the bags in. "So, will you?"

The older Highlander took a look at the teenager, who raised an eyebrow at him, and smirked.

Taking a swig of his beer, he nodded. "It'd be my pleasure, cousin," he said, chuckling.

Mac smiled. Connor laughed. Methos scowled. Richie just looked confused.

This was going to be interesting.

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	6. Sparring Partners

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 6: Sparring Partners**

"So, how long are you stayin'?" Richie asked Conner, as they sat down to eat lunch.

Conner smirked at Duncan. "For a little while," he told him.

Methos snorted, earning him a lifted eyebrow from Duncan.

"Guess that means it's the couch for me again," he muttered, sourly.

"Ah," Richie groaned, "don't tell me I'm gonna have to sleep with Mac again!"

"Hey," Mac said, feigning offense, "I wasn't that bad, was I?"

Richie smirked. "You want my honest opinion?" he asked, grinning cheekily.

"No!" Mac exclaimed, shaking his head. "That's the last thing we need, but c'mon—it won't be that bad."

"Mac," Richie moaned, "have a heart—think of my reputation!"

Methos snorted. "What reputation?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "You're a shrimp."

Richie glared at him. "Least I'm not an old fossil," he threw back at the 5,000 year old.

"You'll be a young fossil in a minute," the older boy growled, "if you don't close your trap."

Conner and Mac exchanged an amused look with each other—they sounded just like a pair of bickering siblings.

Or cousins...

"Shut up, both of you," Mac ordered, firmly, "and eat."

The two continued to glare at each other, but did start eating their sandwiches.

"So, you said that Joe was looking into what happened," Conner said, as a way of breaking the silence more so than actually wanting to know, "do you think he will?"

Methos snorted. "Not bloody likely," he grumbled, sourly.

"Why do you say that?" the older Highlander asked him, curious.

Methos showed him his Watchers tattoo. "I know their archivists," he told him. "Believe me, they don't have one brain cell among them."

Richie's face fell. "So, we're just gonna be stuck like this?" he asked, suddenly losing his appetite.

Mac glared at Methos for opening his big mouth, and then reached out a reassuring hand to place it on the boy's reddish curls.

"If anyone can find out how to fix this, Tough Guy," he said, "it's Joe. He'll come through, don't you worry."

Richie nodded, smiling. "Yeah," he said, "good ole Joe. He won't let us down."

They could all tell, though, he was _still_ worried.

They finished the rest of lunch in silence, and while the boys were once again shanghaied into doing the dishes, the two Highlanders headed downstairs for a friendly sparring match.

"It's been awhile," Mac commented as they circled each other.

Conner grinned. "Don't worry," he told him. "I'll go easy on you."

Mac raised an amused eyebrow. "Uh huh," he said, smirking."Remind me who is 70 years older than whom?"

"That just means I have more experience," his Kinsman told him, as they traded a few blows.

"Call it whatever you like," Mac told him, paring and thirsting, "but I just call it being an old fart!"

Conner laughed. "Oh, it's on now, boyo," he said, "you're going down!"

They're 'friendly' sparring matched heated up quite a bit then and there was no more time to trade strokes with words...it was all up to the swords from then on out.

Once they were through, sweat pouring off of both of them, they wiped their swords clean and headed back upstairs...

They froze as they stepped off the lift.

...to find the loft in a shambles.

And right in the middle of it were a teenager and a kid.

Both of whom were now in very big trouble.

"What the HELL is going on!?"

Two Immortal boys froze from where they were smashing each other with the couch cushions.

Then as one, they pointed to each other and said, "He started it!"

Mac tried to remain stern, but once Conner had burst out in hysterical laughter, there was no help for it.

He joined in, while the two boys stared at them as if they had lost their minds.

Getting control of himself, he crossed his arms over his chest and asked sternly, "Now, what's going on?"

Methos scowled at Richie. "The Brat was being a brat," he growled. "I was just trying to watch some television."

"Mac!" Richie exclaimed, whining. "The Ole Timer was watching some stupid documentary—who actually watches those!—and besides there was a game on I wanted to see!"

Methos snorted. "Excuse me," he sneered, rolling his eyes, "for being somewhat cultured—it tends to happen to one in 5,000 years, you know—and there was no way in HELL I was gonna watch that drivel you call 'sports'."

Richie made a rude noise. "Some of us were actually raised in this century," he threw back, "not the stupid Dark Ages where a man could pee in public—among other things."

"It wasn't the DARK AGES!" Methos hollered, levelling the pillow he was holding at the younger looking boy.

Richie, naturally, ducked and the pillow hit one of the antiques sitting on the table.

They watched, surreally almost, as it fell to the floor and crashed into a thousand tiny pieces.

Mac glared a 'death glare' at the 5,000 year old teenager.

"Uh," Methos shrugged, "oops."

Conner tried to hide his amusement, but was failing miserably.

Mac glared at his kinsman. "You're supposed to be helping," he snarled, annoyed.

Conner shrugged. "It was an accident, Duncan," he said, grinning. "Kids have accidents."

Mac eyes blazed, and he pointed to the shambles that had once been his loft. "Was this an 'accident', too?" he growled.

"Well, no," Conner admitted, "this is referred as a 'pillow fight', I believe. If judging by the 'weapons' they chose. Right, boys?

Richie and Methos both managed to looked decidedly sheepish, but nodded their heads.

Mac counted to ten in Russian, Chinese, Spanish, German, and for good measure Tibetan.

It didn't, however, calm his temper. "I want this place cleaned up," he growled, "or so help me..."

Richie was already moving before the words were out of his mouth. "I'm on it, Mac," he promised. "Don't have to tell me twice!"

Methos rolled his eyes at the boy's 'brown nosing'. "Give me a break," he muttered.

However, the particularly nasty look Mac levelled his way and the remembered swats at the mall, had him joining the youngster in his cleaning endeavours.

Mac let a sigh. "I need a drink."

Conner watched in amusement as he went and poured him a healthy size whiskey, and then joined him.

"How about I take the Ole Timer for a walk once their done," he suggested, "get to know him a bit better?"

Mac sighed. "You don't have to, Conner," he said, wearily. "I'm just not used to children, I guess."

"You said it yourself, Duncan," his older Kinsman said, taking a drink of his whiskey, "you can handle Richie...and we both know why that is?"

Mac smirked. "Because I already think of him as my son," he said, and nodded, "but Methos..."

Conner chuckled. "He's used to being his own man," reminded him, "much like someone else I once knew..."

Mac rolled his eyes. "I wasn't that bad," he said, then frowned, "was I?"

"No," Conner said, "not nearly—but if I could handle you, I can certainly handle the world's oldest Immortal Brat over there."

Mac nodded, smirking. "I warned him you had a harder hand then me," he told him, "but I don't think he believed me."

Conner smirked, downing the last of his whiskey. "Then I'll just have to make a believer out of him," he said, chuckling.

Mac smiled, glancing where two boys were still busy straightening up.

Oh yeah, Methos would certainly learn all right...

...the hard way, he was sure.

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	7. Of Walks and Games

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 7: Of Walks and Games**

While Duncan and Richie watched the rest of the basketball game together, Conner did as he had said and invited Methos to take a walk with him.

"So," the five thousand year old asked, "why are you really staying? We both know you don't tend to stay in one place more than a day or so...?"

Conner smirked. He was smart, he'd give him that.

"Can't a man visit family?" he asked, grinning.

Methos snorted. "If you were really 'Uncle' Conner then I'd say yes," he told him, rolling his eyes, "but we both know that's not true—MacLeod thinks you can keep an eye on me better than he can, doesn't he?"

Conner shrugged. "You don't?" he asked, raising an eyebrow curiously.

Methos laughed. "I was taking care of myself when you were a baby," he reminded him, amused.

"That may be," the older Highlander told him, "but you weren't in the body of a teenager then...and from what I've seen that crystal gave you a lot of teenage attitude to go with it."

Methos sighed. "Maybe it did," he said, shaking his head. "I just never expected this, you know..."

Conner nodded. "I can imagine," he told him.

"Can you?" the 5,000 year old asked. "Really?" He raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well..." Conner admitted, "...maybe not 'really', but I can at least be a sympathetic ear, can't I?"

"And a firm hand across my arse, too, huh?" Methos asked, smirking.

Conner chuckled. "Even Duncan needed 'handling' every once in a while and he was thirty-five," he said. "For us, age is irrelevant. True, experience has a lot to do with it, too—but...sometimes we lose control, can't see things properly anymore, and need someone to 'help' us back."

"Highland child rearing philosophy?" Methos asked, smirking.

"Nah," Conner said, "just my own opinion. My Da's philosophy of child 'rearing' is to take a the largest heaviest strap to the kid's naked arse and whale on him 'til he sees the error of his ways...thankfully, things have changed since then."

Methos nodded. "So, you are to be my handler," he said, sighing. "I suppose, given that you have quite the reputation amongst our kind, I can live with that....certainly more so than the eternal Boy Scout back there..."

Conner chuckled, placing an arm around his shoulders. "C'mon," he said, steering him toward the park, "let's go see if we can scope out any fair young lasses—in tight-fitting running skirts..."

Methos chuckled. "I like the way you think, Highlander," he said, and together the two of them took a stroll through the park.

Meanwhile, back at the loft, Mac and Richie sat on the couch and watched as the Seacouver Seals got their butts kicked in basketball.

"Ah, c'mon," Richie exclaimed, after a particularly bad pass, "He couldn't hit the basket if his life depended on it!"

Mac chuckled at the boy's enthusiasm. "Little louder, Rich," he teased, "I don't think they heard you in Cleveland..."

Richie scowled at him. "Real funny, Mac," he told him, "but c'mon they're stinkin' bad today!"

Mac shrugged. "Everybody has an off day, Rich," he reminded him, getting up. "You want some popcorn?"

Richie started to say 'yes', but then stopped. "Uh, Mac," he said, hesitantly.

Mac looked back at him, from where he was getting a soda out of the fridge for the kid.

"Yeah, Rich?" he asked, curiously.

"Is this kinda what it feels like to have a dad?" Richie asked, his blue eyes very wide.

Mac gulped down the lump that formed in his throat, and then went to sit beside the boy.

"I'm not really sure, Rich," he told him. "What do you think?"

Richie shrugged. "Well..." he said, biting his lip, "...all my foster dads ever did was tell me to shut up and get the hell out of in front of the T.V. and you know I never knew my real dad, so..."

Mac sighed. "Rich," he said, wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulders, "that's all in the past now—you've come a long way since then..."

"But I'm a kid again, Mac" he said, looking down at his altered body, "and I still don't have a dad!"

Mac tried to hide the hurt that caused, knowing the boy didn't really know how he felt about him.

"You've got me," he said, swallowing hard.

Richie grinned. "Yeah," he agreed. "Hey, Mac?"

Mac smiled. "Yeah, Rich?"

Those large blue eyes looked directly into his brown ones.

"Will you be my dad?" he asked, and then blushed. "I mean, I know Joe is probably gonna find a way to fix this—or it might even wear off on its own, you know—but in case it doesn't..."

Mac reached over and placed a hand on the boy's mouth to silence his babbling.

"Richard Ryan," he told him, smiling, "I'd be honoured to be your dad...but are you sure?"

"Hell yeah, Mac," the boy exclaimed. "I mean, you're already kinda like my dad, anyway, and I...well, I guess I always hoped..."

"I've always loved you like a son, Rich," he told him, pulling him closer, "but I knew you never saw me..."

"But I did," Richie told him, sincerely.

Mac chuckled. "I guess we've both been pretty dumb, huh?" he asked, smirking.

"A couple of dummies, that's us all right," Richie said, smiling. "Uh, Mac?"

"Yeah, Rich?" Mac asked, simply enjoying the closeness of _his_ boy.

"I...uh...gotta go, you know," the boy said, blushing.

"Oh," Mac said, sheepishly. "Sorry." He let go of the boy.

Richie got up to head to the bathroom when he felt a sharp smack land on the seat of his pants.

Yelping, he reached back to protect his posterior. "What was that for?" he asked, turning back to Mac.

The Highlander pointed a warning finger at him. "For the swearing," he told him, firmly. "Watch it, Tough Guy...or else."

Richie, despite the stern look, couldn't help but smile. "You got it, Big Guy," he told him, and then he hurried to the bathroom.

Just then, the lift sounded. He glanced to find Conner and Methos stepping off of it.

"Have a nice walk?" he asked his Clansman.

Conner nodded. "Very," he said, winking at Methos. "Good game?"

Mac smiled brightly. "The best," he answered, proudly.

Richie came out of the bathroom then.

"So...when's dinner. I'm starving!"

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	8. Dinner Disaster

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 8: Dinner Disaster**

That night, dinner consisted of: steak—medium rare, of course—loaded baked potatoes, tossed salad for an appetiser, and for dessert: double-fudge chocolate cake (for Methos, Richie, and Connor anyway—Mac intended to have just coffee, thank you very much.)

Unfortunately, they wouldn't quite make it to dessert—thanks to Richie's smart mouth and Methos' quick temper.

"All right, boys," Mac called as he and Conner brought over the plates and bowls of salad (three of them, as he knew Richie wouldn't touch anything green to even save his life.) "Come and get it!"

Richie, naturally, was up and at the table in a flash. "Great," he said, smiling, "I'm starvin'!"

Methos, moving a tad bit slower than his younger counterpart, snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Please, that's impossible," he said, sarcastically. "For one, your Immortal: you CAN'T starve to death, anymore—at least not without waking back up. And two, you had lunch a little over four hours ago—nobody can starve in just four hours."

Richie stuck his tongue out at him. "It's an expression, stupid," he said, sneeringly. "But I forgot: it's a _modern_ one so you wouldn't know it."

Methos narrowed his eyes. "Watch it, Brat," he muttered, annoyed.

Richie opened his mouth to retort, when he felt a sharp slap to the back of the head.

"OW!" he yelped and looked at Mac. "Mac!"

The younger Highlander wasn't sympathetic in the slightest. "Sit down and shut it, Tough Guy," he ordered, firmly. "Now."

Methos smirked, enjoying the kid get what's coming to him.

That was until _he_ felt a sharp slap across the back of his head. He glared at Conner, who shrugged.

"Only fair," he said, smirking, "you were arguing, too. Sit."

The two boys, still glaring at each other and the two adult Immortals, sat.

At first, things got underway more or less normally. They ate they're salads, while Richie ate three of the dinner rolls that Mac had made, as well as kept up a steady stream of chatter for them to enjoy.

It was when they got into the main course that things started to go dicey...

It began when Richie said, "Hey, Ole Timer, you want to pass me the salt please?"

Methos did so, sliding it over without looking at him. "Here you go, Brat."

Richie bristled. "Don't call me that," he told him. "I'm not a brat!"

"Rich," Mac said, in warning.

"Could have fooled me," Methos muttered. "You do such _wonderful_ impersonation."

Richie bristled even more. "Well you do a bang up job as an old fart, too!" he hollered back.

"Richie!" Mac growled, getting annoyed.

Methos, however, was already more than annoyed. He was pissed off.

"Listen, you little piss ant!" he growled.

"Listen to this," Richie growled, and tossed his baked potato at him.

"Richard!" Mac had had enough.

Methos, however, retaliated by tossing his own potato—which hit Richie on top of his head.

"OW!" Richie hollered, wincing in pain. "It's hot! It's burning my freakin' head! Get it off!"

Mac was up in an instant, swatting the potato off the lad's head and carrying him into the bathroom.

They heard the shower running a moment later.

"Humph," Methos growled. "Serves the little blighter right."

"You think so?" Conner asked, raising an eyebrow.

Methos glowered at him. "C'mon, Conner," he said, "he started it."

"Uh huh," the older Highlander said, raising an eyebrow, "remind me again how _old_ you're supposed to be?"

Methos sighed. "I couldn't help it," he said, "the kid pushed the wrong button..."

Conner sighed. "Actually, you can help it," he told him, "and you know it. Now, clean it up."

Methos glared, crossing his arms. "Why me?" he asked, sullenly.

"Because," the other Immortal told him, calmly, "if you don't, I'll show you just how firm my hand really is..."

The teenager growled. "Fine," he muttered, getting up, "but I'm only doing it to save my arse..."

Conner smirked. "Uh huh," he said. "Sounds like a good enough reason to me."

Methos snorted. "You know," he said, "me, too."

They both laughed.

Conner began clearing away the dishes seeing as dinner had been more or less a disaster and was totally finished, while Methos finished cleaning up the two potato missiles.

From inside the bathroom, they heard the shower turn off, followed by the sound of flesh smacking flesh.

Conner and Methos exchanged a lifted eyebrows.

It seemed Richie was learning first hand just how hard of a hand Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod had.

Ouch.

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	9. Consequences

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 9: Consequences**

_*Warning: Richie receives a spanking in this chapter. You've been warned.*_

Mac carried a whining and whimpering Richie into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and quickly stripped the boy down.

He then shoved him unceremoniously under the running water.

"It's cold!" Richie exclaimed, his teeth chattering.

"Of course it's cold," Mac told him, annoyed. "You said your head was burning!"

"W-W-Well i-i-it's n-not anymore, M-Mac," the boy's teeth rattled together from the cold. "I-I think you can get me out now."

"Uh huh," Mac said, noncommittal as he turned off the water and reached for a towel.

Wrapping it around the kid, he picked him up and then sat down on the toilet seat to begin drying him off.

"That stinkin' Methos," Richie grumbled, sourly. "Just wait—I'm gonna get him! That was a rotten, dirty trick!"

Mac stopped drying and raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, really?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Who threw the first volley?"

Richie blinked at him. "Huh?" he asked, puzzled.

Mac rolled his eyes. "Remind me again who threw the first potato, Tough Guy?" he asked, pointedly.

Richie blushed. "Oh."

"Oh, is right," Mac said, seriously, "especially seeing as how I remember telling you to knock it off."

"But, Mac—" Richie attempted to protest.

"No, no 'but Mac'," Mac said, sternly, "you didn't listen and as a result you nearly got your scalp scalded."

Richie pouted. "S'not like I wouldn't heal," he grumbled, sourly.

"That's not the point," Mac growled, angrily. "You didn't listen and as a result you nearly got hurt!"

"C'mon, Mac," Richie said, rolling his eyes. "It was a potato—not a sword."

Mac closed his eyes and counted to ten. Very slowly. In several different languages.

It didn't help.

Opening, his eyes he stared at the young boy he had loved like a son for several years now.

"That isn't the point, Rich," he told him. "I thought you would have learned by now that actions have consequences—but I guess that's still one lesson I need to teach you."

Knowing what he was going to do, and not really liking it, but knowing it needed to be done anyway, he sighed.

He looked Richie straight in the eye. "I told you to knock it off with the arguing, didn't I?" he asked him, point blank.

Richie sighed, sensing a major lecture coming on. "Yes, sir," he admitted. He had, he couldn't deny it.

Mac nodded. "I also warned you to knock it off with the jibes at dinner, didn't I?"

Richie sighed, again. "Yes, sir."

Mac nodded, again. "Yet, you didn't listen and threw that potato at Methos anyway," he said, "and as a result he threw one back at you and it nearly scalded the top of your head, correct?"

Richie sighed a third time. "Yeah, Mac," he admitted, "but—"

"Then," Mac said, firmly, "you'll understand why you're about to get a spanking."

Richie started to answer 'Yes, sir' again, when what the man had said registered. "Say, what?!"

Mac's eyes hardened. "You heard me, Richard," he growled, softly.

Richie became very aware that he wasn't wearing anything besides a towel at the moment.

He gulped.

"B-But, Mac—"

"Don't even try it, Rich," Mac told him, removing the towel, "because you'll be wasting your breathe."

Before Richie could protest or make a run for it, Mac had lifted him face down onto his lap with his naked butt in the air.

"I told you I would be a dad to you, Rich," Mac told him, as he placed a firm hand around his middle, "but that doesn't just include buying you clothes and watching sports with you—it also means that when you screw up I'm there to correct that behaviour. Like now."

He raised his hand back and brought it down across the naked backside, firmly.

Richie yelped as five stinging smacks landed on his exposed bottom.

"Mac, please—"

Five more smacks landed, and his protest was cut short as he bit his lip to keep from yelping again.

Mac sure did have a hard hand.

"I love you, Richie," Mac told him, as he continued to spank him, "and I'm not about to let you make mistakes that could lead to you getting hurt—or worse!"

He brought his hand down sharply on a particularly sensitive spot. Richie hissed.

"B-But this was nothin'—OW!—Mac, please!" Richie pleaded, feeling tears well up and star to sting his eyes.

"This may have been 'harmless' but you still got hurt," Mac said, targeting the sensitive undercurve, "and even the 'harmless' mistakes I won't overlook because you were warned to knock it off and didn't listen—that's called being deliberately disobedient, Tough Guy, and I won't stand for it...anymore than my own father would have."

By now, Richie's backside felt like it was on fire and he couldn't stop the tears falling.

"I-I'm sorry, Mac," he begged, "I'll listen next time."

Mac smirked. "Oh, I know you will," he said, and gave him five really hard smacks to end the spanking.

He then sat him back onto his own two feet once more. "Those last five were a reminder," he told him. "Understand?"

Richie, looking every inch the chastised child, nodded. Sniffling and rubbing, he said, "I-I'm sorry, Mac. Honest."

The sincerity he heard, mixed with those large puppy dog eyes, melted any residing anger the Highlander felt in his heart and he reached to pull the boy into a big bear hug.

"I meant it, Rich," he told the boy, as he rubbed comforting circles into his little back. "I love you. You're the most important thing in my life and I don't ever want anything to happen to you. Alright?"

Richie nodded, biting his lip. "I, uh, love you, too," he mumbled, looking down at the floor.

Mac smiled and reached over to lift his chin. "I know," he told him, "but thank you for telling me. It means a lot."

Richie smiled, but then grimaced. "Ouch, Mac," he said as he reached back to rub his behind, "that hurt!"

Mac chuckled. "I think that was the point, Tough Guy," he said, wrapping him back up in the towel. "Let's go get you dressed and then you owe Methos an apology."

"What?!" Richie exclaimed, indignantly. "But, he—"

"Richard," Mac warned, raising an eyebrow.

Richie sighed. "Yes, Sir," he muttered, sourly.

Mac chuckled and picked him up. He then carried him out of bathroom.

Setting him down, he turned him in the direction of the kitchen where Methos was washing the dishes.

"Go get it over with," he told him. "I'll get you some underwear and those new pj's we bought today."

Richie sighed. Bolstering his courage, he made his way over to the kitchen sink.

"Uh, Methos," he said, hesitantly. "I'm sorry—you know, for throwing that potato at you and everything."

Methos smirked. "Don't sweat it, kid," he told him. "I've had worse things thrown at me."

Richie smirked. "I bet," he said, snickering.

Catching Conner's eye, and his non too subtle nod at the kid, Methos leaned down and whispered, "I'm sorry, too."

Richie smiled. "It's okay," he said. "I've had worse thrown at me, too."

Methos laughed. "Now, that I can believe," he told him, ruffling his hair as he would a kid brother.

Richie wrinkled his nose. "I still think you're an old fart," he told him, smiling.

"And I still think you're a brat," Methos told him. "But for the sake of our arses—I think we'd better call a truce, at least for now. Eh?"

Richie winced, his butt still stinging. "Definitely," he agreed.

They shook hands.

"You'd best go get dressed," Methos told him, "before you die of embarrassment."

Richie smiled at that. "Then I'll come dry the dishes, okay?"

Methos nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me," he said, winking.

Richie nodded and then went back to where Mac was waiting with his clothes.

As he headed back into the bathroom to change and Methos turned back around to finish the dishes, Conner and Mac exchanged amused smiles.

Maybe, just maybe, things would turn out all right.

At least, they firmly hoped it would.

For their sakes...and the kids' butts, too.

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	10. Idle Hands

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 10: Idle Hands**

Methos was bored.

Scratch that...

He was ass-numbing, mind-numbing, blow-your-own-brains-out bored!

The Boy Scout, the Scot, and the Brat had gone out to see a movie.

You would have thought having the loft all to himself would have over joyed him, but...

It didn't.

There was nothing worth watching on television.

MacLeod didn't have any books he hadn't already read before.

And, the fridge was bone-dry...of beer.

_Can just imagine what the two Highlanders would think if they came home and I was smashed._

He smirked.

Well then, he'd just have to go elsewhere to solve his...uh...dry throat problem.

Grabbing his jacket, he headed to Joe's bar...which, of course, wouldn't be open yet.

Perfect.

Fishing around in his pocket, he found the spare key the old Watcher had given him.

"Joe," he said, grinning widely, "I could kiss you—but only after I'm roaring drunk!"

He unlocked the door and went inside, whistling to himself.

Hopping over the bar, he began rummaging through the bottles of liquor until...

"Jack pot!" he exclaimed, finding his favourite brand of beer.

Grabbing a six-pack, he headed over to his favourite table to enjoy them.

Popping the top of the first one, he held the can up and made a toast to himself,

"Past the teeth, past the gums, look out stomach here it comes!" he saluted, and then downed half the bitter beverage in one gulp.

He quickly polished off the first and moved on to the second...then the third...fourth...and finally fifth.

That was when Joe came in...

"Methos?" the old Watcher blinked, surprised to see the boy. "What are you doing here?"

Normally, five beers wouldn't make a dent to the 5,000 year old but due to the fact that he currently inhabited a fifteen year old body those five brewskies had gone and made him utterly, thoroughly, and completely dead ass drunk.

He smiled lopsidedly at the older looking man. "J-Jus' havin' a bit a' fun," he slurred at him, belching loudly.

Even from ten feet away, Joe could smell the alcohol. He wrinkled his nose.

"Does Mac know your here?" he asked, leaning on his cane.

Methos hiccupped and then snorted. "Ya' kiddin'?" he asked, belching again. "Tha' Boy Scoot...uh...Scout!? Not bloody likely!"

For some reason, he found this very funny indeed.

Joe rolled his eyes. Oh boy, something told him Mac wasn't going to be too happy about this.

Crossing over to the oldest living Immortal [_Brat_] he leaned down and said, "C'mon, Ole Timer, I think we'd best get you home..."

Methos shook his head. "Don't wanna," he complained, swaying as he was pulled onto his feet.

"Maybe not," Joe told him, grabbing him around his middle and lifting him off his feet, "but that's where you're going, anyway."

He headed for the exit, and his car out front.

"Ah, Joe," Methos hiccupped again. "You're no fun!"

"Yeah, yeah," Joe said, shoving him into the passenger side of his car, "I know. I'm just an old fuddy duddy."

"Ole fart, more like," the Immortal teen told him, pouting. "Get yer knickers in a twist just 'cuz a fella's tryin' to have a bit 'a fun."

"I'd say you had more than a bit," Joe snorted, rolling his eyes. "And you owe me for those beer, I hope you know."

"I thought we were pals, Joe," Methos grumbled, sullenly.

"Uh huh," Joe commented, steering toward the dojo. "We are—it's just one of us is a bit on the young side now."

Methos snickered. "Yeah, you," he said, giggling. "You were always a bit on the young side next to me, Joe!"

Joe sighed. "I was talking about you," he said, stopping as they arrived at the dojo. "C'mon, looks like Mac's home."

"Oh, joy," Methos rolled his eyes as he was once more lifted off his unsteady feet. "Let the yelling begin."

Joe half carried, half dragged the drunken teenager to the lift and hit the 'up' button.

"What the hell happened!?" Mac exclaimed even before it stopped.

"I'd say someone went and got a little drunk," Conner commented, smirking.

Joe nodded. "I found him in my bar," he told them. "He'd gone through an entire six pack!"

Mac scowled. "I knew we should have made him come with us," he growled at his kinsman.

"I'm sure the lad has learned his lesson," Conner said, eyeing the teenager knowingly. "In fact, I'd say..."

"Ah, I'm gonna be sick!" Methos exclaimed, and then promptly tossed his cookies.

"Eww!" Richie exclaimed, sourly. "That's sick!"

Mac rolled his eyes. "Rich, not helping," he told him, sighing.

Conner draped one of Methos' arms over his shoulders and began steering him toward the bathroom.

"C'mon, laddie," he said, "let's get you cleaned up."

"Not a laddie," Methos muttered, sourly.

Conner chuckled. "From where I'm standin', you are," he told him.

They entered the bathroom and closed the door behind them.

Mac sighed. "Rich, go get me some cleaner," he instructed the boy.

"Sure thing, Mac," Richie said, scampering into the kitchen.

"Joe, do me a favour?" Mac asked, glancing at his old friend.

"What, Mac?" the Watcher asked, curiously.

Mac scowled. "Take back your bloody keys!" he growled, annoyed.

Joe smirked.

"I already did," he said, holding up the items in question.

"How'd you manage that?" Mac asked, curiously.

"He picked his pocket," Richie snickered, as he handed the Highlander the cleaner and scrub brush.

Joe nodded. "I picked his pocket," he repeated, proudly.

Mac chuckled.

From inside the bathroom, they heard the sounds of what appeared to be an argument followed by thump and then...

Well, then, they heard the sound of _something_ smacking _something_.

Joe and Mac exchanged a glance. Richie winced.

It seemed Methos was learning first hand (no pun intended) how hard a hand Conner MacLeod had.

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	11. Consequences II

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 year old teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 11: Consequences (II)**

Conner helped Methos into the bathroom, where he promptly threw up again.

Luckily, he managed to make it to the toilet this time.

The older Highlander wrinkled his nose as the boy heaved and heaved his poor drunken guts up.

_Ahh, poor lad,_ he thought remembering his own first bought of drunkenness vividly.

Come to think of it, he had been about fifteen at the time. He smirked.

He also clearly remembered just how his Da had sobered him up. He winced.

_I couldn't sit for a whole week after that,_ he remembered.

Finally, Methos was through up chucking. Flushing the toilet, he staggered over to the sink with a groan.

Splashing cold water on his face, and into his mouth, he moaned, "I don't understan' it. Six beers doesn't usually do this to me!"

Conner rolled his eyes. "Usually," he reminded him, "you're a full grown man with a high tolerance level. Now, though, you are a fifteen year old..."

"No, I'm not!" Methos growled, annoyed. He winced, as little jackhammers started playing around his skull.

Conner smirked. "My mistake," he said, grinning. "I meant to say you are currently in the body of a fifteen year old—therefore, alcohol is going to have a different affect on you then before."

Methos slumped to the floor. "Well, ain't that just freakin' terrific," he moaned, wishing he could die.

Conner closed the toilet and sat on it. "You put yourself in this position," he reminded him. "Bitching about it won't help."

Methos glared at him, and even that made his head ache. "Thanks a lot," he growled. "You're being so supportive."

"I'm not here to be supportive," Conner told him. "I'm here to keep an eye on you."

"Yes, I know," the 5,000 year old practically snarled. "You're doing a bang up job so far."

Conner narrowed his eyes, dangerously. "I wouldn't agree," he said, "but that's about to change."

Methos sighed. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, warily.

"It means what it means," Conner told him, firmly. "My question is: why did you go out and get yourself boozed up?"

"Because I felt like it," the world's oldest teenager said. "Happy now?"

"No, actually," Conner said, "I'm not and I don't much care for that tone."

Methos snorted. "Like I give a damn right now how you feel about my _tone_," he growled, angrily. "Just go away, Highlander, and leave me alone."

"No, I don't think I will," Conner said, sternly, "and I'll tell you something else. I think the reason you went out and got drunk is because you were bored—and everybody knows a bored teenager is bound to be trouble."

"Well, thank you so much for your professional opinion Dr. Spock, but you just beam yourself back to Vulcan any time now."

Conner crossed his arms. "What did I say about the tone?" he asked, annoyed.

Methos' eyes flew open and he jumped to his feet.

Ignoring the roaring in his head, he yelled, "Look, you great Scottish weenie, I'm over 5,000 years old. I've lived more life times than you could ever imagine, and seen more than most people ever should have to! I've seen men ripped apart, women raped until they died, children burned alive, and untold other horrors that would have you crapping yourself! So, excuse me, if my _tone_ bothers you but I feel I've earned the right to use whatever the hell _tone_ I want to!"

Conner stood up, calmly. Even despite being smaller in build than his younger Clansman, he still easily towered over the Immortal teenager.

"I disagree," he told him. "Nothing, and I mean _nothing_, gives you the right to be rude, insulting, and downright disrespectful to those that care about you. Furthermore, the same is true of yourself. I told Duncan that I would keep an eye on you, keep you out of trouble, and when I say I'm going to do something I do it."

Reaching out, he took Methos by the shoulder and pulled him with him as he promptly sat back down on the toilet seat.

"What are you—?" the 5,000 year old asked, startled as he was pulled forward and suddenly found himself draped across the man's knees with a rather loud thump.

"By rights," Conner told him, "I should yank those breeches of yours down, but instead I think I'll just use this."

He calmly reach over and yanked Duncan's wooden backscratcher, which had a wide flat back, off its hook from the shower.

"Conner," Methos growled, "this is ridiculous! Let me up!"

"Um, no," Conner said, tightening his hold on the squirming boy. "I don't think so. You've done enough talkin' for one day, I think."

He raised the backscratcher up and then promptly brought it down across the seat of the teenager's jeans.

Methos yelped, jumped, and struggled even harder to get up. It did him no good.

Conner continued spanking, targeting the sensitive undercurve where buttocks and thighs met.

Methos hissed at each whack of the hard wooden instrument, cursing in every language he knew, but refusing to cry out.

He wouldn't give the damn Scot the satisfaction.

"You know," Conner told him, continuing to whack, "I can keep this up for a _very_ long time. The question is: can you take it for that long?"

Methos bit his lip. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't—

The backscratcher hit a particular sore spot.

"All right already!" he whimpered. "I'm sorry, all right! It was a stupid thing to do!"

Conner nodded. "Indeed it was," he said, continuing to bring the backscratcher down.

Methos' backside felt like it was on fire and tears had began to leak from his eyes.

Damn the Highlander straight to—

"Please!" he begged, a ragged sob escaping from him. "Please, Conner, no more! P-P-Pleaseeeee!"

Conner knew he had enough. "I'm warnin' you here and now, my fine lad," he told him. "From here on out: this is what will happen every time you get yourself into trouble. Understand?"

He brought the backscratcher down for emphasis at every syllable.

Methos nodded, just wanting to be over. "I-I understand," he said, "I swear! Please!"

Conner nodded, fully satisfied the lad had learned his lesson. Putting the backscratcher up, he let the boy off his lap.

Methos stood, tears falling in buckets down his face, his backside feeling as raw as ground beef, and his pride somewhere around his ankles.

Conner's heart twisted at the sight, and he stood and pulled the boy into a tight hug.

He resisted at first, but then placed his head onto his shoulder and sobbed heartbrokenly.

"I know, laddie," he comforted, rubbing circles into his back, "I know. This is hard for you—it would be for anyone, but going out and gettin' boozed up won't solve anything or make it simply go away."

The boy nodded against his shoulder. "I-I know," he cried, "I-I'm sorry."

"Ah, lad," he said, "it's all right now. Just don't do it again. All right?"

Again, the 5,000 year old nodded against his shoulder. He sniffed.

Conner chuckled. "Go wash your face," he instructed, "and blow your nose—and not on your sleeve, either!"

Methos smirked a little at that. "Hey," he said, "I thought I was supposed to be a kid. Kids do stuff like that, don't they?"

Conner smirked. "Uh huh," he said. "I never let Rachel do that. Or John. I won't let you, either."

Methos went and washed his face, and then got a tissue to blow his nose.

He winced at the burning feeling in his backside, and reached back to rub an aching cheek.

He snorted.

_I thought MacLeod's hand had hurt, but that was nothing compared that blasted backscratcher!_

"You ready to go face the masses?" Conner asked him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He sighed. "I suppose," he said, wearily, "I don't have much choice, do I?"

Conner shook his head. "Nope," he said, "c'mon." He went and opened the bathroom door.

With one last look in the mirror, Methos sighed and followed him back out.

Mac raised an eyebrow at them. "Feel better?" he asked, smirking.

"A little," he muttered, biting his lip. His arse felt horrible!

Conner gave him a little nudge. He glared. The Highlander raised an eyebrow. He sighed.

"I'm sorry, MacLeod," he apologized to Mac. "For throwing up on your floor."

He then turned to Joe. "And I'm sorry I drank your beer," he said. "I'll pay you for it."

Joe nodded. "Don't sweat it, pal," he said, "and next time, just ask—one beer won't hurt you, any...but that's all you'll get."

Methos smirked. "I can live with that," he said, sighing.

Everybody got quiet for a few minutes.

"So..." Richie broke that silence. "Anybody hungry?"

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	12. Bad News Times Two

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 year old teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 12: Bad News times Two**

"Any luck, Joe?" Mac asked his Watcher as they sat down for an early dinner of macaroni-n-cheese.

The older man sighed. " 'Fraid not," he said, grimacing. "I've had almost ever archivist that I know searching through the old tomes, but so far nothing has popped up on the Cronus stones..."

Methos snorted. "Told ya," he muttered, crossing his arms. "Those idiots couldn't find their own arses except that they're sitting on them."

"Not helping," Conner told him, firmly, "Zip it."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Those stones are very old," he reminded them, "older than me..."

"So what? You're saying just because they're old that's there's no record of 'em?" Richie asked, annoyed. "Dinosaurs are older than you too, remember? And we got plenty of records on them?"

"Bones, and nothing more," the 5,000 year old teenager growled back. "The Watchers' archives are the most extensive I've ever seen, but that still doesn't change the fact that some things are older than it, and the stones are one of them. They won't find anything even if they spent their entire lives looking!"

Richie scowled, opened his mouth to say something scathing but closed it when Mac levelled him with a nasty look.

"That's enough," he growled. "Bickering won't help any. Joe, what do you think our next move should be?"

Joe scratched his beard. "To be honest, Mac," he told him. "I just don't know..."

Just then, the mobile phone he kept on him in case of emergencies rang.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he answered it. "Dawson..." He listened, a frown forming.

The other four exchanged glances, knowing something wasn't right.

Joe sighed. "Thanks, bye," he hung up.

"What is it?" Mac asked, concerned.

"Uh, I don't know exactly how to tell you this," he said, glancing at him and Conner, "but an old friend of you two is dead..."

"Who?" both asked, intense looks darkening both of their faces.

"Sean Cassidy," Joe told them, sadly. "I'm sorry."

Conner and Mac exchanged glances, their fists clenched tightly.

"Who's Sean Cassidy?" Richie asked, curious.

"An old friend," Conner said.

"One of our oldest," Mac told him. "He saved mine and Conner's heads once...nearly lost his doing it, too."

"Oh, man," Richie said, and then glanced at Joe. "How'd he die?"

"His Watcher, Freddie," Joe explained, nodding at his phone, "doesn't know. It's clear another Immortal killed him, but...he was killed while asleep in his bed—there was no duel."

Mac's jaw clenched so tightly. "When?"

"Late last night," he said, "In Scotland."

He nodded, standing up. "I'm going," he declared, determined.

"Not without me you're not," Conner told him, standing also.

Mac looked at him. "What about the boys?" he asked.

"I'll stay with them, " Joe offered, helpfully.

"The hell you will!" Methos declared at the same Richie exclaimed, "No way!"

"I'm coming with you," they both finished at the same time.

"Absolutely not!" both Highlanders growled at the kids.

Methos raised an eyebrow. "You intend to stop us how?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"You really want to find out?" Conner asked, angrily.

Suddenly Methos lifted his arms up and over his head. When he brought them down again, there was sword in them.

His eyes flashing with an intensity that startled them all.

"I _am_ Methos, oldest of Immortals," he growled, his sword catching the light. "I was Death itself once, long ago, and though I may no longer inhabit the body of an adult, all my knowledge—including how to handle a sword—is still very much intact. You two haven't lived half the lives I have, nor had the experiences I do. You're entering into a situation that you know nothing about. Another pairs of eyes will be needed, especially a pair that isn't clouded by anger...or seeking revenge for a friend's death."

For several seconds, no one spoke. Methos glared intently at the two MacLeods, waiting.

Conner finally sighed. "He's right," he said, glancing at Duncan.

"I know," Mac grumbled, "but still..."

Conner shrugged. "Besides," he said, "as long as he is with us I can keep a close watch on him."

Mac nodded. "That's true," he said, "I still don't like it, but..."

"You can come," Conner told the teenager, "but take one toe out of line and I'll tan your hide so hard you won't be sitting for a hundred years. Understood?"

Methos put his sword away, smirking. "Perfectly," he said, sitting back down.

"Hey!" Richie exclaimed. "If _he_ gets to go, then so do I!"

"Rich, no," Mac said, shaking his head. "It's too dan—"

"Dangerous, Mac?" Richie asked, scoffing. "How much danger do you think I'll be in if an Immortal shows up and you're not here, hmm?"

"Joe will protect you," Mac assured him, trusting his old friend to do just that. Joe nodded.

Richie snorted. "No offense, Joe," he said, rolling his eyes, "but I doubt you'll be a match for any determined Immortal—even with that gun I know you've got."

"Richie this isn't..."

"Oh, let him come, Duncan," Conner said, sighing. "He gets out of line, take him out to the woodshed..."

Mac glared at him. "Conner, it's just too...."

"...dangerous, I know," Conner finished for him, "but he's right. Joe won't be able to really protect him—not if whoever comes for his head is really determined, and you know what that kind of Immortal is like. He or she wouldn't hesitate to kill mortals to get what they wanted."

Mac sighed. "Fine," he grumbled, glaring at a smiling Richie, "but so help me, Rich, you disobey even a single order and I'll bust your butt into the next millennium!"

Richie smirked. "Sure thing, Mac," he said, grinning.

"Well then," Conner said, "pack your bags boys..."

"...we're going to Scotland!"

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	13. Trouble With a Captial K

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 year old teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 13: Trouble with a Capital K**

"So," Richie said, as he glanced around, "this is the Highlands, huh?"

Connor and Mac snorted. "The modern version, anyway," the younger MacLeod spoke.

"I can remember when Inverness was nothing more than a small trading village for the mountain Clans," his older Clansman said, sighing. "Now, look at it."

He gestured to the small city they were looking at.

"By most modern standards," Methos reminded them, sourly, "this is still barely a dot on the map. Can we please just get to our hotel rooms!?"

Richie smirked at the 5,000 year old teen. "What's the matter, Ole Timer?" he asked, smugly. "Flight didn't agree with ya or somethin'?"

The Immortal teenager scowled at him. "Flying is a relatively new thing for me, Brat," he grumbled, sourly. "I still say if God had meant for man to fly, he'd have given him wings."

"That'd be a yes," Richie chuckled. "Oh, man, the world's oldest Immortal gets air sick!"

Methos looked about ready to reach for his sword. "MacLeod," he growled, annoyed.

Mac sighed. The two of them had done nothing but argue and bicker the entire way.

He had been sorely tempted to dump them out of the air plane more than once, in fact.

Reaching over, he smacked Richie upside the head. "Can it," he growled. "Now."

Richie rubbed his ear, grumbling something that sounded like, "You suck."

Mac wisely chose to ignore that remark, instead turned to Conner and said, "Car here?"

His kinsman nodded. "Yep," he said, smirking. "Let's go."

Grabbing their bags, they headed out to the waiting rental and then on to their hotel.

After checking they made their way to their room, a single one with two beds, to unpack their stuff.

"Why couldn't we have separate rooms?" Methos asked, wearily.

"This is cheaper," Conner told him, shrugging.

"Please," the teen grumbled, "the only truly poor one in this room is the Brat. I think we could afford separate rooms."

"All right then," Mac told him, "this makes it easier to keep an eye on you two."

"I think it's cool," Richie said, 'testing' out the bed by jumping on it.

"Give me a break," the oldest Immortal scowled. "Could you get any more juvenile!?"

Richie scowled, but didn't say anything. Mac looked like his patience had finally run out.

There was no way he was going to get his butt busted because the world's oldest teen was cranky.

Instead, he asked, "Who sleeps with who? There's no way I'm bunking with Mr. Cranky over there!"

"You won't," Mac assured him, grinning. "You'll bunk with me and Connor will bunk with Methos."

"Oh, lovely," Methos groaned, falling back onto one of the beds.

"I'm not that bad," Conner told him, smirking. "I don't snore like Duncan does."

"I do not snore," Mac told him. "I..."

"Breathe loudly," the other three chorused, rolling their eyes. "We know."

Mac scowled. "Everyone's a critique," he grumbled, shaking his head.

"C'mon," Conner said, clasping him on the shoulder, "let's head over to Sean's place. See if we pick up anything the local yokels didn't?"

He nodded, looking at the two boys. "You two don't go anywhere," he instructed sternly. "Stay here. We'll be back in a couple of hours."

Methos sat up. "Um...I didn't come all this way to sit on my ass while you two do all the work," he reminded them. "Or babysit the Brat..."

"Hey!" Richie exclaimed, and would have said more if Mac hadn't clamped a hand over his mouth.

"For now, you are," he told him, firmly. "Got it?" He narrowed his eyes at him.

Methos scowled. Conner raised an eyebrow. He sighed. "Fine," he muttered, "but as the Brat there likes to say 'this sucks.' "

Conner chuckled. "Maybe so," he said, grabbing his trench coat, "but that's life."

He and Mac headed out the door. Richie flopped down on the other bed. "This stinks," he grumbled, sourly.

Methos snorted. "You said it," he said, going to the window and looking out.

He watched as the two MacLeods got into their rental car and drove away. He nodded.

"Right," he said, determined. He turned and headed for the door.

Richie sat up. "Where you goin'?" he asked, scowling.

"Out," Methos told him. "I'll be back before they are. Don't worry." He started to turn the doorknob.

Richie was off the bed and beside him, closing it back. "Not without me you aren't," he told him, stubbornly.

Methos snorted. "There is no _way_ in hell you are comin' with me," he told him, firmly. "Mac would have my head—literally!"

Richie smirked. "I'll only just follow you once you're gone," he told him, sneakily, "so you might as well let me come."

Methos scowled. "MacLeod really should have killed you when he first saw you," he told him, sourly.

Richie shrugged. "Maybe so," he said, smirking, "but he didn't. So..."

Methos sighed.

"Fine," he said, "but you do _not_ leave my side—or so help me I'll blister your ass myself! Got it?"

Richie smiled brightly. "Yes, Sir," he said, saluting. "Whatever you say, Colonel Cranky, Sir!"

Methos rolled his eyes. "Just shut up and go," he told him, shoving him out the door.

"So," Richie asked, once they were out of the hotel and headed down the street, "where we goin'?"

"There's a Watchers' Station here in Inverness," Methos told him. "We're going there."

Richie looked puzzled. "A Watcher what?"

"Every city in the world where you might possibly find an Immortal," he explained, "has a permanent Watcher stationed there. Other Watchers report to him, telling them who's in town and that sort of thing—the Station Master, as he's called, then reports to the higher ups. It's how information about Immortals gets backs to Watcher HQ so quickly."

"Oh," Richie said, "so what do you think we'll find there?"

"Information," Methos told him. "The Highlanders _might_ find something at Cassidy's place, but I doubt it. The Station Master here will definitely be able to tell us something..."

"Uh," Richie said, "how exactly are you going to get him to tell you? I mean, even if you flash your Watcher tattoo, he's going to find it a little farfetched that you're Adam Pierson, right?"

"I know this particular man," Methos told him. "He's knows I'm Immortal—he'll believe me, trust me."

"If you say so," Richie said, sounding sceptical, "I guess—a"

They suddenly felt the presence of another Immortal nearby. They froze.

Richie's eyes widened. "Uh," he said, glancing up at the older Immortal, "you did bring your sword, right?"

Methos smirked. "Of course," he said, "but there's something odd about that signature..."

Richie glanced around. "What do you mean?" he asked, curiously.

"I don't know," he said, "but it was different somehow...almost...almost exactly like yours!"

"Huh?" the younger Immortal asked. "How's mine different than everybody else's."

"Before, when you were just a teenager," he told him, "your signature was strong, yet not overpowering. Now, it's just barely above pre-Immortal status. This felt like that, as if...as if..."

"As if the one its coming from is an Immortal kid, too," Richie stated, frowning. He then turned quickly toward a clump of trees.

"I knew it!" he exclaimed, and then started running before Methos could stop him.

"Hey!" the oldest Immortal exclaimed. "He really needs a leash!" He then took off after him.

Richie ran, his eyes narrowed. Just a little closer...

He leapt, tackling the person he'd been chasing to the ground.

"Get the hell off me!" the person he'd tackled growled.

Methos caught up and pulled Richie off his target. He found himself staring at a boy of about ten years old. He was dirty, hard-eyed, and uttering swear words that would make sailor blush.

"Who are you?" he asked, curiously.

"Don't get too close," Richie hissed at him, "and put me down!"

Methos smiled. "If you insist," he said, and then promptly dropped him face first onto the ground.

"Thanks a lot," he grumbled as he picked himself up off the ground.

He then went and kicked the kid he'd tackled in the stomach. "You little runt," he growled.

The boy picked himself up and glared at him. "Look who's talkin'," he snarled. "Who are you?"

"You know damn well who I am, Kenny," Richie growled. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your damn business," the Immortal Child Kenny told him, "whoever you are..."

"I'm Richie," Richie told him, "Richie Ryan and you tried to kill my teacher—twice!"

Kenny's eyes widened. "Ryan! That's not possible," he growled.

"Oh, believe me it is," Methos told him, eyeing him shrewdly. "So, you are the infamous Child Immortal—the one who lures gullible in with that innocent wide-eyed look and then cuts off their heads when their backs are turned..."

Kenny shrugged. "It's sound strategy," he said, unrepentant.

Richie growled. "Let me have your sword," he growled. "I may not be able to win in a fight against any other Immortal, but I certainly kick his ass!"

"Oh please," Methos told him. "MacLeod would have my head if I even let you try. Now, simmer down."

"MacLeod is here?" Kenny asked, worriedly. "Where?"

Richie smirked. "Afraid?" he asked, sneering. "You should be, you little weasel! Mac's gonna take your head for sure this time—especially..." His eyes widened.

Methos nodded. "...especially if you had anything to do with Sean Cassidy's death," he finished for him, eyeing the Child Immortal suspiciously.

Kenny's eyes widened. "I-I didn't," he stammered, "I-I swear!"

Richie snorted. "Oh, please," he said, "save the 'I'm innocent as the day I was born' crap for someone who buys it. You're comin' with us 'til Mac gets back."

"The hell I am," Kenny growled. "I'm—" He suddenly found a sword at his throat. He gulped.

"I think we insist," Methos told him, smirking as he pressed the blade a little closer.

Kenny nodded. "Sure," he said, "whatever you say."

Methos smirked. "Good boy," he told him, "now, move it."

He pressed the point of the sword into the boy's back to get him moving.

Richie smirked. _Boy, is Mac gonna be pissed when he finds out Kenny's here!_

Something told him, the Child Immortal would not come away unscathed a third time after a confrontation with the Highlander.

_Not this time...oh no, definitely not this time._

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	14. Truth and Consequences

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 year old teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 14: Truth and Consequences**

"It's odd," Conner commented, as he and Mac searched through Sean Cassidy's house.

"What do you mean?" Mac asked, curious.

"Sean wasn't exactly a stay-in-one place kinda guy, remember?" his older Clansman said. "So, why would he suddenly move to Scotland and buy a house?"

A nice house it was too, not too big yet not too small either. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a basement, an attic, a living room, a fenced in back yard, it had it all and it was nice.

But it was strange that one man would need so much space...

Mac nodded. "Yeah, it is strange," he said, "but for we know he grew tired of the Game and decided to take a break from it..."

Conner nodded. It was possible, he supposed, after all he and Mac had each done the same at one point or another.

"Unfortunately," he said, sighing, "there doesn't appear to be anything here that tells us who may have killed him..."

Mac sighed. "Yeah, we should probably..." he froze, something on Sean's mantle catching his eyes.

Conner turned to him, seeing him pick up a framed picture. "What is it?" he asked, coming over and glancing over his shoulder.

Mac held a picture of their friend, Sean, but he wasn't alone in it. A boy, about ten years old, stood beside him, not looking at all happy about being in the picture, either.

"I think we just found our answer," Mac said, gripping the picture frame so hard he nearly cracked the glass. "C'mon, we need to get back to the hotel. Now."

He turned, headed for the door and taking the picture with him. Conner frowned, but then followed.

"What is it?" he asked, puzzled. "What are you thinking?"

"I know who killed Sean," Mac told him, getting into the driver's side. "Now, I just have to find him..."

"Who?" Conner asked, puzzled. "This boy...?"

"He's no boy, Conner," Mac growled. "His name is Kenneth—goes by Kenny these days—and he's eight hundred years old."

His older Clansman's eyes widened. "That Child Immortal you told me about?" he asked. "The one that takes Immortals' heads while their backs are turned?"

"Or while they're sleeping in their beds," Mac growled, angrily. "When I find him..."

"You can't jump to conclusions based on a picture, Duncan," Conner reminded him, firmly. "Just because he in one of Sean's photos..."

"The only reason he would be is if he was using him, like he used all those others," Mac told him, his voice certain, "and it fits—Joes said Sean was killed while he was asleep. Whoever killed him had to get close enough to him to do that and the only way that could happen if he had his guard down, not expecting it."

Conner sighed. He would have said more, but knew it would be pointless.

When Duncan made up his mind, there was very little that could change it.

They got back to the hotel and headed up to the room. As they neared, not two, but _three_ Immortal presences washed over them.

They stopped, looked at each other, and then sprinted the rest of the way. Throwing open the door, they entered with their katanas drawn.

"Heya, Mac," Richie said, smirking. "Look who we found."

He was sitting on the bed, cross legged while Methos stood beside a chair. In that chair was none other than Kenny—with the oldest Immortal sword at his throat.

"You!" Mac growled, advancing on the pale, wide-eyed Child Immortal. "You killed Sean Cassidy, didn't you!?"

Kenny shook his head. "I-I didn't, MacLeod," he shouted. "You gotta believe me!"

"No, I don't," Mac growled, raising his sword and then he started to bring it down.

Metal clashed as Methos' sword raised to stop it, preventing the Katana's blade from slicing off Kenny's head.

Mac's eyes blazed as he stared at the oldest Immortal teenager. Methos, however, stared back hard-eyed.

"You can't just cut off his head," he told him, firmly. "Even if he is guilty...that's murder, MacLeod, and you're no murderer."

"B-Besides, Mac," Richie exclaimed, gulping. "p-people might complain if they hear swords clashing up here."

"They're right, Duncan," Conner said, putting his Katana away and shutting the door. "Let's hear his side of it."

"He's just going to lie!" Mac growled. "That's what the little bastard does! Lies, lies, lies!"

"Maybe so," Methos said, "but he's been telling me and Richie for an hour now he's innocent—and I'm starting to believe him."

"What?!" Mac asked, outraged. "How can ya!?"

"Experience, MacLeod," Methos told him, simply. "Sure, he'd lie at first but why should he? He's out numbered and he knows it. You, I, or Conner could cut his head off any minute. None of us buy his lost little boy act, so he knows there's no way we'd fall for it. I've studied his file before and I know he'd have no reason to keep saying he's innocent if he really wasn't. He'd admit to doing it, brag about it even, but wouldn't keep saying he didn't."

Mac growled, clenching his katana tightly. "Fine," he said, glaring at the Child Immortal. "Start talking...begin with this."

He tossed the picture into his lap. Kenny looked at it, and sighed. "All right," he said, "I did know Cassidy..."

Mac snorted. "Obviously," he said, rolling his eyes.

Kenny glared at him. "I met him last year, a few weeks after my last encounter with you," the boy told him. "At first...at first he was just going to be like all the others."

"You mean you intended to gain his trust and then kill him when his back was turned," Conner said, narrowing his eyes.

"That's my strategy," Kenny told him, shrugging. "I want to win the Game..."

"Why?" Richie asked, earning a glare from the other boy. "I mean, sure we all want to be the last, but with you it's an obsession. So, why?"

"The last gains all the power of the Immortals," Kenny reminded him, "and maybe even..."

"Mortality," Conner finished for him. "He wants to win because he believes it will give him back his mortality."

"And I'll finally get to grow older," Kenny said, "become an adult, you know."

"That still doesn't excuse all the lives you've taken," Mac growled at him, "or save your head from me...get on with it. What happened with Cassidy?"

Kenny sighed. "Like I said, I intended to kill him," he said, "and even tried, once."

Methos raised an eyebrow. "But you didn't succeed?" he asked. "What happened?"

"He turned around," the boy said, gulping, "just as I was pulling back."

"And he didn't take your head?" Conner asked, surprised.

Sean Cassidy hadn't been a very forgiving soul when they last knew him, so why had he spared the brat?

Kenny shrugged. "I thought he was going to," he said, remembering, "I was frozen knowing that this was finally the end...but he didn't. He just said, 'I'll give you one more chance, Ken. Don't let me down.' After that, he was more guarded around me, but...he didn't tell me leave or try to take my head."

"Are you the reason why he moved here?" Conner asked, curiously.

Kenny smirked. "He said we needed to blend in better," he continued his explanation, "so we came here, told everybody I was his nephew."

"And you didn't try to take his head again?" Mac scoffed. "At all?"

Kenny scowled. "He didn't treat me like the others," he growled. "He was...different. I _liked_ him, MacLeod, is that so hard for you to believe!?"

There were actually tears in his eyes and his fists were clenched tightly at his side.

"So, how did he die?" Mac asked, angrily.

Kenny shook his head. "I-I don't know," he said, quietly. "I was asleep."

"Didn't you feel a presence?" Conner asked, puzzled.

Kenny shrugged. "I just assumed it was Cassidy," he said. "It wasn't unusual for him to go out at night and come back real late..."

"That must be why he was taken by surprise," Conner said, realizing the truth.

Mac looked at him. "Why do you say that?" he asked, frowning.

"Just as the boy thought it was Cassidy then Sean must have thought the presence was Kenny," he told him. "He'd have felt it, of course, but if he was used to living with another Immortal by then he'd have simply assumed it was the boy getting up for a midnight snack or something..."

"W-When I felt the Quickening," Kenny went on, "I-I just panicked. I-I...ran."

He looked away, unable to meet their eyes.

Mac's gripped his katana harder. "You just left him there to die?!" he growled, angrily.

"He was already dead!" Kenny growled. "What was I supposed to do, MacLeod!? Stay there and get killed?"

"You're not defenceless, Kenneth," Mac growled, "and we both know it!"

"Maybe so," Methos said, "but he wouldn't have stood a chance against a full grown Immortal, not unless...he or she was weakened by a Quickening."

They all turned sharp eyes on the boy, who glared at them.

"She'd just killed my friend," he growled, defiantly, "I had the right."

Mac and Conner exchanged looks, and then turned back to the Child Immortal.

"Why didn't they find two bodies?" Conner asked, raising an eyebrow.

"There's a bridge close by," Kenny said, "I drug her there and then took her head. Then I dumped the body and head in the lake. Trust me, it'll be awhile before it surfaces."

"Well," Methos said, sighing, "I guess we won't have to avenge Cassidy after all."

"Maybe, maybe not," Mac growled. "Conner, take Richie and Methos to check out this lake and bridge—see if he's telling the truth."

Conner raised an eyebrow. "Only if you give me your sword," he told him, holding out his hand.

Mac rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to kill him, Conner," he told him. "Kenneth and I are just going to have a little 'chat', that's all."

"Don't call me that," Kenny growled, annoyed. "It's just Kenny."

"Kenneth is the name your parents gave you," Mac reminded him, "and so it's the name I'll use."

Conner sighed. "Very well, Duncan," he said, "but if we come back to find a headless body—you and I will be having our own 'chat'."

Mac snorted. "Sure thing, Kinsman," he growled, "now go."

His older clansman nodded. "C'mon, lads," he said to Methos and Richie. They nodded and followed him out.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Kenny asked Mac, crossing his arms. "You think I'm lying."

Mac put his katana away. "Oh no, Kenneth," he told him, "I _do_ believe you."

Kenny's eyes widened. "Why?" he asked.

"It's simple," Mac said. "That story would sound made up and hard to believe coming from someone else—except you. You, I know, are more than capable of doing what you said you did."

"So, what?" the boy asked. "You're going to take my head now?"

"I gave my word I wouldn't," Mac reminded him, "and a MacLeod always keeps his word."

Kenny shook his head. "Spare me the eternal Boy Scout routine," he said, rolling his eyes, "before I puke."

Mac smirked. That remark had sounded like something Methos would have said...

Hmm...Kenny's attitude was even worse than the 5,000 year old's, would a good hiding do him any good?

Mac smirked. Maybe, maybe not, but it would certainly be well-deserved.

The little brat had been in need of a firm hand for 800 years now, after all.

"You know what, Kenneth," he told him, "you are in serious need of an attitude adjustment."

Kenny snorted. "Oh, really," he scoffed, crossing his arms, "and who's gonna give it to me, MacLeod? _You_!?"

He laughed, thinking the very idea of that happening completely hilarious.

Mac glared. "You think I'm joking?" he asked him, crossing his arms. "Well then, Kenneth, let me prove to you I'm _very_ serious."

Kenny blinked. "Huh?" he asked, but before he fully realized it MacLeod had yanked him out of the chair and taken his place in it.

He then found himself propelled face down across the larger Highlander's lap.

"No f-ing way!" the Child Immortal snarled, trying to get up.

"Remind me to wash your mouth out later," Mac told him, tightening his grip on him.

He raised his other hand back and then brought it down across the boy's backside.

Kenny yelped, surprised at the sting it caused. He couldn't believe this was happening!

He'd been beaten before, of course, many times but...never...SPANKED!

This was just so humiliating!

"You've run around for the last 800 years doing whatever you pleased, Kenneth," Mac started lecturing as he continuing spanking. "Well, from now on, that's all gonna change."

Kenny let out a string of swear words that would have made sailors blush or paint peel.

Mac narrowed his eyes, and then began targeting the sensitive under-curve.

"As I was saying," Mac went on, "Sean obviously felt you needed watching and that's why he gave you that second chance—so, I think I'll finish what he started. When we leave here, you'll be coming with us."

"The hell I will, MacLeod!" Kenny snarled, tears stinging his eyes. His butt felt like it was on fire!

"Oh, you will," Mac told him, assuredly, "even if I have to spank your butt all the way onto the plane."

Kenny growled, as the tears began leaking. How much longer was this going to last!?

Mac let him up then, but kept a tight grip on his shoulders.

He stared him directly in the eyes, seeing only defiance in them. He sighed.

It seemed he still hadn't learned his lesson.

Reaching out, he unbuttoned the boy's blue jeans and unzipped them.

"Hey! What do you—" Kenny didn't have time to finish his protest before he found himself once more over the man's knees.

Mac pulled the boy's jeans down and then his underwear, baring his bottom.

Kenny gritted his teeth, mortified. MacLeod was so losing his head for this!

Then, the first smack landed and all other thoughts fled except how much more this hurt than before.

"Now that I possibly have your attention," Mac said, delivering harder smacks onto bare flesh, "let's review, shall we?"

He began spanking the sensitive under-curve again, aiming for the exact same spot over and over again.

Kenny gritted his teeth even harder, but the tears were already starting to fall and he didn't think he could take much more of this.

"So, you _will_ be coming back with us," Mac went on, never stopping his rhythm for a second, "and you _will_ follow the rules that Conner and I set for you."

"The hell I—Ah, MacLeod! Please!" Kenny couldn't take it anymore. "Smack someplace else, please!"

Mac grinned, seeing he was finally getting through to the boy.

He changed his target, alternating blows to both butt cheeks.

"As I was saying," he went on, "_yes_, you will obey our rules or you're going to find sitting down a far distant memory. You're going to learn to be a kid—"

"I am not a kid!" Kenny hollered, beyond caring anymore. He just wanted this to be over!

Mac struck a particular sensitive area. "Don't interrupt, it's rude," he told him, sternly.

"And you see, that is exactly my point. You, Kenneth, _are_ a kid—maybe not a helpless kid, like those poor Immortals you murdered and certainly not an easy target like all those head hunters thought you were—but still a kid and you always have been. It's time you stopped running from that fact and accepted it...or so help me I'll tan your hide until you do!"

"Ah," Kenny groaned, the fire in his backside searing now. "P-Please, MacLeod, no more! Please!"

Mac raised an eyebrow. "You can call me Mac or Mr. MacLeod, but not just MacLeod," he instructed him. "You're also going to learn some respect, Kenneth. Now, do you understand everything I've told you?"

Kenny didn't answer, he was too busy seething inside.

Mac brought his hand down, hard.

"Ahhh!" Kenny exclaimed. "All right! All right! Yes, I understand! I'll do whatever you say, just STOP IT!"

By now, he had started sobbing—unable to stop himself—and all the defiance had been spanked out of him for now.

Mac knew he'd had enough. "You've been alone for 800 years, Kenneth," he told him, gently, "but not anymore. I give you my word on that."

Kenny didn't answer, just merely continued to sob while Mac rubbed comforting circles into his back.

Finally, the sobbing stopped and Mac discovered that the boy had fallen asleep draped across his lap.

Glancing down, he saw that the flesh of his backside was a deep crimson but was already starting to heal.

He would, however, remember this spanking for quite a while to come.

Fixing the boy's jeans and underwear, he picked him up and laid him on his stomach on one of the beds to finish out his nap.

Just then, Conner and the boys returned. "It's true," his kinsman told him. "She's down there all right."

Mac nodded. "Anyone we know?" he asked, curious.

"Felicia," Richie said, quietly. "I always wondered what happened to her, you know."

Mac went over to him and hugged him. "She was an evil twisted soul, buddy," he reminded him, gently.

Richie nodded. "Doesn't matter, anyway," he told him, and then grinned cheekily. "I see Kenny still has his head."

"But what about his other end?" Methos asked with a smirk. He'd noticed the way the boy was laid on the bed.

Mac shrugged as Conner raised an eyebrow at him. "You never said I couldn't do anything to his other end," he reminded him, chuckling.

"Did you get your point across?" his older Clansman asked, curious.

Mac nodded. "I think so," he said, staring at the Immortal child. "He's coming with us."

Conner nodded, he'd figured as much. "I'll call the airline and order our return flights."

"Actually," Mac told him, "I'm kinda homesick. Let's drive up into the Highlands a bit, okay?"

Conner smirked. "All right," he said, "sounds good to me. Boys?"

"Cool," Richie exclaimed, while Methos sighed, "If we must..."

Mac grinned, and then glanced back at the sleeping Kenny.

He certainly hoped Sean had been right taking a chance on the boy.

He smiled.

Richie. Methos. Kenny.

Forget white hair, he and Conner would probably be bald!

"So," Conner said, smirking, "onto the Highlands."

Mac nodded.

"To the Highlands."

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	15. The Pit Stop

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 year old teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 15: The Pit Stop**

"Mac, are we there yet?" Richie asked, for the thousandth time.

Mac gripped the steering wheel of their rental car a little bit harder.

The boy had not shut up since they had left Inverness that morning.

He knew the boy was bored, they all were really, but couldn't he be quiet for at least five minutes?

Was that too much to ask for?

"Mac," Richie spoke again, "I'm hungry. Please, tell me we're almost there!?"

Apparently so.

Beside him in the passenger's seat, Conner chuckled. Mac glared at him.

_Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, just because Methos has been a living statue the whole way and hasn't bugged you to death! Just you wait, cousin..._

Of course, Kenny hadn't said a word either. He was too busy sending both of them death glares.

"Mac!" Richie exclaimed again. "Tell these two to give me some room, I'm squished!"

"Richie, for heaven's sakes, shut up!" Mac growled, losing his patience.

"But, Mac—!" Richie started to whine.

"Richie," Mac growled between clenched teeth, "if I have to tell you again, I'm going to pull this car over, cut a switch from one of these trees, and tan your behind with it!"

Richie's eyes widened and his next whine came out as a squeak.

"All right, already," he muttered, pouting.

He wisely closed his mouth. _I was only askin'..._

Methos smirked, but didn't think it in his best interest to tease the brat at the moment.

Kenny just snorted in contempt.

_I wish MacLeod __**would**__ pull over, _he thought, _and then maybe I could make my escape._

He had been trying to think of a way to ditch the two Highlanders, the Immortal teenager they claimed to be the oldest of them all, and Ryan the Annoyance (his new nickname for Richie.)

So far, nothing had worked.

They had even taken him shopping before leaving Inverness for some new clothes.

He had let them simply because he couldn't stop them, and besides if they _wanted _to spend their money on him why not let them.

So that was why he now had several new t-shirts, new long-sleeved shirts, new trousers, new blue jeans, new underwear, new socks, and was even now wearing a brand new pair of sneakers on his feet.

He had to admit it was kind of nice to be wearing something than his usual swiped-out-of-a charity-shop clothes.

That still didn't mean he wanted to stay with the eternal Boy Scouts and they're shrunken sidekicks.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Richie start to squirm a little bit. He smirked. Bingo!

"Hey, MacLeod," he said, startling the Highlander a bit, "I think you'd better pull over otherwise Mr. Mouth over here is gonna wet himself."

Richie blushed and scowled at him. "Can it, Psycho Brat," he hissed at the other child Immortal, "I'm fine."

Mac glanced at him in the rear view mirror and noticed him trying not to squirm. He sighed.

"Rich," he said, exasperated, "if you needed to use the bathroom why didn't you say so?"

Richie blushed even more. "You told us to go before we left," he reminded him, "and I...uh...forgot."

Mac rolled his eyes, but Conner chuckled.

"I could do for a pit stop myself," he admitted to his younger clansman.

Mac nodded. "Methos? Kenny?" he asked, eyeing both of them.

"If you're asking if I need to take a leak, then no," Methos told him, "but it would be nice to stretch my legs a bit."

Mac glanced at the third boy in the back. "What about you?" he asked, curious.

Kenny thought a moment, and then smirked. "I need to shit," he told him.

"Okay, we _so_ could have done without knowing that," Richie said, rolling his eyes.

Mac nodded in agreement with him.

Pulling the car over off the main road, he put it in park and killed the engine.

"All right," he said, removing his seat belt, "everybody out, do any business you need to do, and then be back here A.S.A.P. Got it?"

"I think we can handle it, Duncan," Conner told him, smirking. "Unless, of course, you'd like to watch to make sure we do it right?"

Mac rolled his eyes. "No, thanks," he muttered, getting out of the car.

"Move it, Ole Timer," Richie growled at Methos, "I gotta go!"

"All right," Methos said, feeling small feet press into his back forcing him out of the car faster. "Keep it up, Brat, and you're gonna be eating mud!"

"Well, you'll be eating—" Richie started to respond, when Mac stopped him.

"Rich, don't you have to go really badly?" the Highlander asked, raising an eyebrow.

Richie nodded, and quickly hurried behind one of the nearby trees. Conner did the same.

Mac glanced at Kenny. "Uh, your business requires a bush," he told him. "There are some over there."

Kenny snorted. "Thanks a lot," he said, and then turned to head that way.

This was working better than he thought it would.

With both Highlanders conviently behind a couple of trees, he could easily duck behind some bushes and crawl 'til he was out of sight of the car.

A twig snapping behind him made him jump, and he spun around to find Methos following him.

"Uh, do you mind?" he asked. "Little privacy, please?"

Methos snorted. "Please," he said, rolling his eyes, "in my day men used the bathroom in front of each other all the time. No one thought anything about it."

"Well, that was then and this is now," Kenny growled, "so, if you don't mind..."

Methos shrugged. "See, MacLeod might believe you but I don't," he told him. "He's a bit slow on the uptake, you know, so he probably wouldn't see this little 'pit stop' for what it really is."

"And what's that?" Kenny asked, growling. This guy was starting to really annoy him.

Methos smirked. "Come now, Ken," he said, "quit playing. We both know you want to escape...but I could be wrong and you do need to take a dump. If that's the case, I'll happily apologize..."

"Well then, get ready to," Kenny told him, smirking.

"...once I've seen it for myself," Methos finished, cutting him off.

Kenny snarled. "Mind your own damn business," he growled at the world's oldest teen.

Methos raised an eyebrow. "I could always tell MacLeod what you're up to," he told him, "and given what happened yesterday what do you think his reaction would be, hmm?"

Kenny glared at him. He remembered the spanking he'd received quite vividly, even if his backside had completely healed.

"So the world's oldest Immortal is nothing but a tattle-tale," he sneered at him.

Methos shrugged. "Of course," he said, his sword suddenly in his hand, "I could just take your head right now..."

Kenny's eyes widened. "Y-You wouldn't," he stammered, backing up. "M-MacLeod..."

"Would bitch about it, of course," Methos told him, "but...you'd already be dead so there wouldn't be anything he could do except challenge me and we both know he won't do that."

"Why's that?" Kenny asked him, scowling. "Is he _that_ afraid of you? Are you really _that_ good?"

"Because we're friends, Ken," Methos told him. "Something you obviously know nothing about, but MacLeod—for some ass-backward code of honour—is willing to teach you what it means. I'd listen to him. You're running out of chances, you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kenny asked, glaring.

Methos shrugged. "Simple," he said. "No matter what you hope, you don't stand a chance of being the last—the gullible fools that fell for your lost little boy act have almost all been wiped clean, that will leave just the Head hunter types or those like the MacLeods. Now, who are you willing to take a chance with?"

Kenny gulped. Was what he said right? Was he running out of options? He sighed.

"Now then," the world's oldest teen told him, "either drop your drawers and do your business, or let's head back to the car. The others are waiting."

Kenny glared, but then nodded. He moved past him and started back for the car.

Methos smirked and then followed.

"Feel better?" Mac asked Kenny once they reached the car.

"Not really," the child Immortal answered, climbing back into the car without another word.

Mac raised an eyebrow at Methos, who just shrugged and also got back into the car.

The two Highlanders exchanged glances, one shrugged while the other sighed, and then they both got in as well.

Something told them, this was going to be an interesting road trip.

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	16. A Bit of Bonding

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 year old teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 16: A Bit of Bonding**

They traveled for a few more hours before stopping in a small Highland town.

It wasn't quite noon yet and it was a surprisingly clear day.

Arriving at the small inn in town, they rented two rooms for the night.

"Why do I have to share with them?" Kenny growled, indignantly.

He, Richie, and Methos would be sharing one room while Connor and Mac shared the other.

"Would you prefer to share with us?" Mac asked him, raising an eyebrow.

Kenny glowered at him. "No," he said, sullenly, "that'd be even worse. I want a room all to myself."

Methos snorted. "Right? Like that's gonna happen," he sneered at the child Immortal.

Richie nodded. "Mac doesn't trust you as far as he could throw you," he said, but then frowned. "Which come to think of it could be quite a ways...hey, Mac, let's test it and see!"

Connor chuckled at that. "I don't think so," he said, shaking his head wryly. "Kenneth, quit your belly-aching and unpack."

"The name's Kenny," the ten year old looking Immortal growled at him, "and I'll unpack when I'm damn good and ready!"

"No," Mac told him, sternly, "you'll unpack when we tell you to and not give us any lip about it...or else."

"Fine," Kenny muttered, sourly. He grabbed his bag and headed for the room he was to share with the other two boys.

Methos sighed. "I'll go unpack too," he said, grabbing his own bag, "and keep an eye on our far-from-trustworthy friend."

Richie went to the window and looked out. He smiled.

"Hey, Mac," he said, turning to his mentor/surrogate father, "there's a park across the street!"

Mac joined him at the window. "So there is," he said, grinning. "What did you have in mind, Tough Guy?"

Richie smiled at the use of his nickname, as well as the head rub that came with it.

It was strange, but he didn't mind being a little kid again...and he knew it was because of Mac.

For the first time in his life he knew what having a father was like and it made him feel great inside!

"Remember how you, Tessa, and I used to go the park sometime," he said, smiling wistfully.

He was remembering happier times when he first met Mac and his lover, Tessa Noel, and lived with them in their antique store.

Mac nodded. Yes, he most certainly did remember. Those had been the happiest times of his four hundred years.

For the first time he had a family of his own...but sadly it was not to last.

He placed his head on Richie's head, glancing down.

He still had part of that family... even if he no longer had his soul mate he still had his son.

For that, he was truly thankful.

He smiled, and then turned to Conner.

"What do you say?" he asked his clansman. "Up for a bit of bonding?"

Connor chuckled. "I am," he said, smirking, "but I don't know about those two pains in the ass in there..."

He jerked his thumb to where Kenny and Methos were.

Mac smiled.

Oh, they'd come all right...if they didn't want to sleep on their stomachs tonight, that is.

An hour later found all five of them in the park. Connor carried the sandwiches they had ordered and brought with them.

"Exactly why are we doing this again?" Methos asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mac shrugged. "We're bonding," he said, simply. "Just relax and enjoy it."

They found a picnic table and sat down to eat.

Once he was finished, Richie retrieved a Frisbee from the bag they'd brought along.

"Where'd this come from?" he asked, puzzled.

Mac smirked. "I saw it when I went to order lunch," he told him. "I remembered you and Tessa always liked to throw one around..."

Richie smiled brightly. "Wanna play?" he asked, hopefully.

Mac grinned. "Why do you think I bought it?" he asked, ruffling his hair. "C'mon."

"Wait for me," Conner said, polishing off his sandwich, "I want to play, too."

"Sure," Richie said, happily, "it's more fun when there's more than two people playing. Come on, Methos!"

Methos sighed, but got up as well. "Very well," he said, smirking, "I suppose I can toss the discus around for a while."

Richie snorted. "It's called a Frisbee, Mr. Medieval," he told him, rolling his eyes.

"I know that, Brat," the 5,000 year old told him, putting him in a head-lock and giving him a 'nuggy'.

"Hey!" Richie cried indignantly, squirming out of his hold. "Watch the hair, will ya!?"

Methos just smirked. He glanced Kenny. "What about you, Ken?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Richie asked, smirking. "You gonna get your head out of your ass long enough to have some fun?"

"Richie," Mac growled, in warning.

"No, it's okay," Kenny told, sighing. "I'll just watch."

"It's a lot of fun," Richie told him. "C'mon, I know your eight hundred years old, but you can still act like a kid every now and then...can't you?"

Kenny just scowled. "I said 'no', you twerp," he growled. "Now leave me the hell alone!"

Mac sighed. "C'mon, Rich," he said, placing a hand on his pseudo-son's shoulder, "if he doesn't want to play, he doesn't have to."

Richie sighed. He wished the other child Immortal would lighten up.

He was missing out on so much...

"Here it comes!" Conner called out, tossing the round toy at Mac—who easily leapt and caught it.

"Here you go, Rich," the younger Highlander called out, tossing the swirling piece of plastic the boy's way.

Richie leapt up to catch it, but he was a fraction too short and it sailed right past him.

"Got it!" Methos called out, catching the thing effortlessly. He grinned smugly at Richie.

"No fair," the boy called out, "I can't help it I'm short!"

"You were always shorter than me," Methos teased, dangling the Frisbee just out of the younger Immortal's reach.

"Hey!" Richie exclaimed, trying to jump up and catch it. "Let go already!"

"Nope," he said, "I think we should play a little game of 'Keep Away'. Catch, Mac!"

He sent the disc flying toward Mac, while Richie raced after it. Mac caught it.

"C'mon, Mac," Richie whined, "let me have it!"

Mac smirked. "Got to catch it first, Rich," he told him, grinning. "Here, Kinsman!"

"Man," Richie growled, running after it again, "this sucks! It's not fair! You're all bigger than me!"

Conner winked at him. "Here you go, Ole Timer," he called out, and tossed it Methos' way, but aimed just a little to his right so that he missed it.

It landed on the table in front of Kenny, who stared at it in puzzlement.

He had been watching them, trying to figure out what was so fun about tossing around a stupid disc.

Richie came running up. "Let me have it," he said, "please!"

Kenny smirked. "Like MacLeod said," he told him, picking up the Frisbee, "you gotta catch it first!"

He jumped up from the table and started running, Richie followed right on his heels.

"Just you wait," Richie panted, stopping a moment to catch his breath, "I'm gonna get you, Kenny!"

Kenny snorted. "That'll be the day, twerp," he called back. "Nobody can stop me!"

That was when Methos stepped into his path, knocking him onto his butt. He easily took the Frisbee from him.

"You were saying?" he asked, smiling down at him.

Richie caught up. He and Kenny exchanged a look.

"Get him!" they cried out at the same time and immediately tackled the older Immortal to the ground.

Mac and Conner watched as the three boys wrestled and rolled on the ground, each trying to claim the Frisbee.

"What say you, cousin?" Conner asked, smirking. "Should we join the fray?"

Mac nodded. "Yep," he agreed, smiling.

As one, the two Highlanders dove on top of the three struggling boys and began tickling mercilessly.

The Frisbee, of course, was tossed aside at some point but it went unnoticed.

"What are they doing?" a lady asked her husband as they watched the five romping about on the ground nearby.

"Just a bit of bonding, that's all."

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	17. Quarrel and Consequences

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 year old teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 17: Quarrels and Consequences**

**(Warning: Spanking with a belt in this chapter. Don't like, don't read...or review.)  
**

That night, Mac sat on his bed in his and Conner's hotel room, after having just taken a shower.

He casually flipping through local channels trying to find out what the weather would be the next day.

_It's Conner's turn to drive anyway,_ he thought with a smirk, _but still better safe than sorry..._

"Today was good day," Conner commented as he stepped out of the bathroom from taking his own shower.

He was wearing pyjama bottoms and was drying his head with a towel.

Mac smirked and nodded. "Yeah, it was," he said. "It was the first time I've seen Kenny act like a regular kid before."

His older Clansman nodded. "There may be hope for him yet," he said, smirking. "Richie seemed more carefree today, as well..."

Mac nodded. He'd noticed this too.

"He's taking what's happened a lot better than I thought he would," he said, turning the television off.

"He used to be so independent, always insisting he was 'fine' when it was clear he wasn't...used to drive Tessa nuts..."

He trailed off, gulping.

"Ah, Duncan," Conner said, softly, "I know you still ache for her..."

He came over and placed a comforting hand onto his younger kinsman shoulder.

Mac reached up and gripped it in appreciation.

"I still have Richie," he told him, "and now Kenny—something tells me with those two I won't have time to miss her too much..."

Conner chuckled. "You can say that again," he said, smirking. "In fact, I'm surprised they're being so..."

Suddenly from the other room there came the sound of a loud crash, multiple swearing, and the sound of a scuffle.

"...quiet," the older Highlander finished, glancing at Mac with a raised eyebrow.

As one the two clansmen raced into the other room to find all three boys in the midst of what could only be called a winner-take-all brawl!

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?" Both Highlanders shouted, as they moved to separate the boys.

Conner grabbed Kenny, pulling him off a swearing Methos, while Mac grabbed a still kicking Richie.

"That's enough!" Mac growled, smacking the squirming boy's thigh sharply.

Richie stopped struggling, as did Kenny. The two adult Immortals looked at the world's oldest teenager for an explanation.

"Those two little monsters jumped me for no reason," he growled.

"He was being an ass," Kenny growled, defensively.

"Yeah," Richie agreed, "he wouldn't let us watch anything on T.V.!"

"So, you dove on top of him and started hitting him?!" Mac asked, outraged.

"Hey, he started it," Kenny growled. "He hit me first!"

"That true?" Conner asked Methos, raising an eyebrow at him.

The oldest Immortal blushed. "Maybe," he mumbled, sourly. "They were getting on my nerves."

Mac sighed, glancing at his kinsman. "You deal with him," he growled, "I'll handle these two."

Conner nodded, handing him Kenny—whom Mac grabbed by the scruff of the neck and started pulling into the other room.

Once inside, Mac found the first empty corner and pushed him towards it. "In the corner," he growled, "now!"

Kenny looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "You gotta be kidding me!" he growled. "No way in Hell!"

Mac's eyes narrowed, and then glanced at Richie. "Rich, get in the corner," he said, setting the other boy down.

"But, Mac—" Richie started to whine.

Mac raised an eyebrow at him. "Rich, you're already in for a spanking tonight," he told him, "do you want it to include my belt?"

Richie's eyes widened at that and he shook his head, fiercely. Mac's hand was bad enough!

"Then do as I say and get your butt in the corner," he growled, "now!"

Richie obeyed instantly, going to the nearest corner and sticking his nose firmly in it without further argument.

Mac latched onto Kenny's arm and pulled him into the bathroom. Grabbing a new bar of soap, he ripped off the paper and sat down on the toilet seat.

"Open up," he commanded the child Immortal in his grip, as he broke the small bar in half.

Kenny glared at him, shaking his head.

"Kenneth," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, "you're already testing my patience...do not test me further or you will not like what happens. Open your mouth!"

Kenny didn't think MacLeod would take his head, but he certainly sounded mad enough to and he didn't want to take that chance.

He opened his mouth.

"Tongue out," Mac ordered, firmly. Kenny obeyed, and he placed the half bar of soap onto it. "Tongue in, mouth closed. Five minutes."

Kenny again obeyed, his face wrinkling as the taste of the soap began to burn his tongue and mouth.

He started to spit it out, but Mac held up a warning finger. "You do and the other half replaces it," he told him, sternly, "and it'll be for ten minutes then."

Kenny crossed his arms and glared at the Highlander, as his eyes began to sting with tears from the burning sensations in his mouth.

Mac counted the time on his watch and when five minutes had passed, he said, "All right, you may spit it out but you can't rinse your mouth out just yet. I want that burning feeling to stay a while."

Kenny happily spat the soap into the garbage can, but then glared angrily at the Immortal.

"You're going to learn to curb that colourful language of yours and be more respectful, Kenneth," Mac told him, "otherwise you're gonna find the taste of soap in your mouth a lot more often."

He sighed, shaking his head. "Now, c'mere," he told him, "we still have to deal with you fighting with Methos."

"I told you, he started it," Kenny defended himself, "and I wasn't the only one!"

"I know that," Mac told him, "and as soon as I'm done with you I'm going to deal with Richie—but you're first. No matter what Methos may or may not have done that doesn't give you the right to attack him!"

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said, sneeringly.

Mac's eyes narrowed dangerously. That did it!

He stood up, towering over the child Immortal.

Removing his belt from its loops, he grasped Kenny's arm and pulled him to him.

Sitting back down he pulled the boy over his knee and reached to pull down the pyjama bottoms and boxer shorts he was wearing.

"I told myself I would _never_ do this," Mac told the boy, as he raised the belt back, "but you have pushed me too far, Kenneth. I _will_ get through to you. If this is the way I have to, then so be it."

He brought the belt down across the naked backside with a resounding _SNAP!_

Kenny hissed at the sting it caused, but didn't have time to gripe or complain as a steady rain of stripes begin landing on his exposed posterior.

The minor sting quickly became a sizzling crackle and then a searing burn that covered ever square inch of his abused backside...and it didn't seem like Mac intended to stop anytime soon.

It was after the tenth stripe that Mac began to lecture.

"Am I getting through yet, Kenneth?" he asked, not really expecting an answer.

Kenny hissed as another painful stripe landed. "Bastard!" he growled, as tears began to sting his eyes once more.

"Apparently not," Mac said, sighing. He lifted his knee, exposing more of the boy's backside and began targeting the sensitive undercurve.

Another ten stripes landed and by then Kenny could only think of how much it hurt and that he wanted it to stop.

"M-MacLeod," he whimpered, the tears falling down his cheeks freely now, "p-please no more! I-I'm sorry!"

Mac narrowed his eyes. "Are you really, Kenny?" he asked, gently. "Or are you just saying that so that the spanking will be over?"

"Uh..." Kenny said, not really able to think beyond the searing burn in his butt and residual burn in his mouth.

Mac nodded, understanding. "I thought as much," he said, "and it's almost over."

He brought the belt down five more times and then set it aside.

He glanced down at the boy's exposed bottom that was now a dark shade of red...but could already see the signs of healing beginning to take place.

However, he was certain Kenny would still be feeling this spanking well into tomorrow.

Fixing the boy's clothing, he stared him in the eyes.

Anger, mistrust, bitterness, all of the usual emotions that spewed from the boy's mouth were present within them...but there was also vulnerability there, too, and a loneliness so great it nearly broke the Highlander's heart.

"Ah, lad," he muttered, quietly, "stop trying to be so old...allow yourself to be a child for once and let it out."

"I-I don't know what you're talkin' about," the boy growled, more tears leaking from his eyes.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about," Mac told him, grasping his chin firmly. "You've just been given a whipping that would have made most grown men bawl like babies! I know it hurts, Kenneth, I've been on the receiving end before, so just stop being so arrogant and bitter and allow yourself to shed the tears that need to be shed."

Kenny's face remained stony, but then something in him broke and he started to sob.

Mac pulled him to him and wrapped him in a firm hold. "There, there, lad," he soothed, "I know. I know."

"H-Hurts," Kenny sobbed into his shoulder, and Mac knew he wasn't just talking about his over-sore rear.

The boy had died prematurely, had watched his parents slaughtered before him, had reawakened into a life where many wanted to take his head, and had no one truly ever be there for him in eight hundred years.

No wonder he had become the sneaky little fiend that he had. He had survived the only way he knew how.

In that moment MacLeod was determined that he would never give up on this boy, that no matter what it took he would always care for him, just as he would Richie.

After a few more minutes, Kenny's sobs lessened and he seemed to regain his composure.

He stepped back, rubbing his eyes. "M-May I rinse my mouth now?" he asked, quietly.

Mac nodded. "And wash your face while you're at it," he suggested as the boy made his way over to the sink.

Once he was done, he looked at the Highlander—uncertain what to do now.

"Go take Richie's place in the corner and tell him to come here," Mac told him, firmly.

The boy nodded, and exited the bathroom. "Kenny?" Mac's voice called to him before he got all the way out.

He turned back around. "Huh?" the boy asked, curiously.

Mac smirked. "No rubbing," he ordered, firmly.

Kenny scowled at him, but nodded. He then turned and exited the bathroom.

A few moments later Richie entered, looking very wide eyed. He was eyeing Mac's belt apprehensively.

Mac noticed and quickly put the boy's fears to rest. "I needed that to teach Kenny a valuable lesson," he told him, "don't worry, Tough Guy, I won't be using it on you."

Richie smiled in relief...

"But you're still getting a spanking," Mac informed him, sternly.

...that quickly faded into a resigned expression.

Mac sat back down onto the toilet seat, and beckoned the boy to come to him.

Richie did so, looking every inch the condemned man.

The boy's fairly typical childish reaction to a spanking made the Highlander's heart glad for some reason and almost persuaded him not to go through with it.

Almost, but not quite.

"You know it's wrong to attack a person just because they're annoying you, Rich," he told the boy, sternly, "don't you?"

Richie sighed. "Yes, sir," he said. He knew all right...it had happened to him enough in the past.

"Then you understand why you're getting this spanking," Mac asked, "don't you?"

Richie sighed, again. "Yes, sir," he said, miserably. "But I don't have to like it!"

Mac chuckled. "Aye, lad," he said, "I don't much like having to do it, either."

"Then don't," Richie said, hope in his eyes.

"Nice try," his surrogate father told him. "If I did that, how could you respect me ever again...how could I respect myself knowing I wasn't doing my job as your father properly."

Richie nodded. "I guess you're right," he said, "but I still don't like it."

Mac grinned. "I still don't like it either," he said, "so let's get it over with."

Bending the boy across his knee, pulled his pyjama bottoms down to expose his bare bottom and brought his hand down across it.

Twenty hard smack later, Richie was squirming and crying and begging in unison ready for it to be over.

A final five, to his sensitive under-curve, and his punishment was over. He was pulled into a big bear hug, which he returned whole-heartedly.

After letting him go, Mac stood up and took his hand. Together, they made their way out of the bathroom.

Mac sat down on Conner's bed and said, "Kenny, you can come out now."

The older boy came to stand beside Richie in front of him. He looked at them both, so different yet so alike in a lot of ways.

"You both owe Methos an apology," he told them, firmly, "and then its lights out. No more television for any of you tonight."

They nodded, neither one attempting to argue anymore.

From the other room, the sounds of what appeared to be leather hitting bare flesh was heard.

Kenny winced, recognising that sound all too well.

It seemed he wasn't the only one getting a dose of a belt tonight.

So, it seemed, was the world's oldest Immortal.

Ouch!

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	18. Accepting Responsibility

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 year old teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 18: Accepting Responsibility**

After Mac had 'escorted' Richie and Kenny into the other room, Conner and Methos stared at each other in silence for a little while.

They heard quite clearly what Mac was doing, and both winced recognizing the sound of a belt hitting flesh.

_That little idiot must have really pissed MacLeod off, _the oldest Immortal thought with a sigh.

"So," Conner commented, raising an eyebrow at him, "they were annoying you so you hit them, huh?"

Methos scowled at him. "They deserved it," he grumbled, sourly, "and I did warn them."

Conner nodded, seeming to agree with him. "Of course," he said, his tone far too casual for Methos' liking.

"They were acting like a couple of little brats, Conner," he told him, "what else should I have done?"

"Talked to them, maybe," Conner suggested, "reasoned with them..."

Methos snorted. "Yeah, like _that_ would have worked," he said, rolling his eyes.

"You sound just like a petulant teenager," the older Highlander observed, wryly.

"I wonder why," the 5,000 year old said, sarcastically.

"True enough," Conner said, "but you know when I was teenager my father still didn't hesitate to tan my backside—and he tended to be much rougher then than when I was just a boy. Want to know why?"

"Not really," Methos muttered, sourly, "but I'm sure you're going to enlighten me anyway."

Conner smirked. "You'd be correct," he said, chuckling. "He beat my arse harder as a teenager than when I was a boy because I was old enough to start acting like a man and as such I should have known better than to do whatever it was that I had done to earn the blistering I was getting. The same could be said of you, couldn't it?"

Methos frowned, not liking where this was going. "What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled.

"You've lived 5,000 years," Conner told him, "and by rights you are the oldest of us here yet when annoyed instead of relying on the knowledge stored within your brain you acted like any other teenager boy with annoying younger siblings—you bashed them over the head."

Methos shrugged. "That's how my brothers treated me," he explained, "and we were all more or less grown men at the time."

"The Four Horsemen," Conner said, nodding, "I remember Ramirez—my first teacher—telling me about them. Ruthless, murdering bastards he called them...."

"And we were, too," Methos said, smirking. "I was Death—the blood of countless mortals rests upon my hands..."

"And yet, you feel remorse and guilt," Conner said, "which tells me you're more than able to accept responsibility for your actions, correct?"

"I suppose," Methos said, hesitantly, "why?"

Conner stood up and removed his belt. "Because you'll come over here and drop your drawers, bend over the bed, and accept this whipping like the man you're supposed to be rather than the belligerent brat you've been acting like," he told him, firmly.

"You're not serious?" Methos asked, hopefully.

"As a heartbeat," Conner replied, sternly. "Now, will you take your comeuppance like a man—or do have to do it for you? Either way, it's happenin'..."

Methos glared at him. He glared back. Who would break eye contact first?

The world's oldest teenager sighed. "Very well," he said, walking over to the bed.

He undid the button and unzipped the fly of his jeans and allowed them to fall to his ankles.

"Shorts, too," Conner told him, firmly.

"Can't I have a little dignity?" he asked, pitifully.

"I'd be more worried about my arse than my pride at the moment," Conner told him, amused. "Down. Now."

Methos sighed, reaching for the waist band of his boxers. They too fell to his ankles.

"Good lad," Conner nodded, approvingly, "now bend over."

Methos complied, mortified by how low he had fallen.

He felt a hand on his back, which rubbed comfortingly for a moment.

"This isn't going to be easy," Conner told him. "I'm gonna be as hard on you as my father was on me."

_You're not my father, _the 5,000 year old thought. _I don't need a father anymore..._

When he didn't say anything, the older Highlander sighed and raised the belt back.

He brought it down across the exposed rear with a great deal of force.

A hiss escape Methos' lips as that first blow sent a searing burn in his butt.

Ten stripes...Twenty stripes...landed on his defenceless posterior.

He endured it without a sound, though it was proving to be most difficult.

His butt felt like raw hamburger, and tears had begun to string his eyes.

"Lean forward," Conner ordered, firmly.

Methos groaned, understanding why he wanted this. Leaning forward lifted his bum even more into the air, giving the belt wielding Immortal access to the sensitive under curve where his butt met his thighs.

_Definitely won't be enjoying the car ride tomorrow, _he thought wryly.

Then the next volley of stripes landed on that most sensitive area, erupting a new, more painful fire upon his arse.

Another twenty stripes fell...and he couldn't take anymore.

"C-Connor, p-p-please," he whimpered, sobs escaping him as well as the tears, "n-no m-more!"

Conner nodded. "Aye, lad," he said, "it's almost finished."

He raised the belt back one final time.

Methos hissed as ten more stripes landed, five upon each butt cheek, with enough force that they forced him upon his tip toes and his knees buckled.

As he sobbed into the bedding, he heard Conner put his belt back on and then felt strong hands grab his shoulders.

Pulled up, he found himself turned around to face the now kneeling Highlander, who continued to grip his shoulders quite strongly.

"As my father told me," Conner said, "I'm proud of you. Only a real man could have taken a hidin' like that—but more important only a real man would have accepted it in the first place."

"T-Thanks," Methos muttered, trying and failing for sarcasm.

"Ah, lad," Conner said, pulling him to him in a crushing embrace. "You're almost as bad as Kenny, you know."

Methos pulled back looking startled. "What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled.

"You try so hard to keep this aura of mystery and independence about you," he told him, "you try so hard to live up to 'The World's Oldest Immortal' that you forget deep down you're still the same as you were when you first became one."

"I-I guess," Methos said, "I've never thought about it much."

Conner nodded. "Aye, but now you have," he told him. "Tis not weakness to care about others—or to allow them to help you every once in a while. You've been given a chance to relive your teenage years anew, they couldn't have been very good the first time, eh?"

"That would be putting it mildly," he said, a touch of his humor returning.

"Ya see," Conner said, hugging him again. "Quite being so damn stubborn, and allow yourself to be a kid—world's oldest Immortal or not—you are one now."

Methos nodded. "But I'm still older than both of those other two," he reminded him. "I guess I should set some sort of example for them."

Conner nodded. "Heaven knows they need it," he said, chuckling.

Methos smirked. "That's for damn sure," he said, wryly. "Can we get up now? I'm kinda bare-assed here, you know."

Conner chuckled. "Wouldn't want anybody seeing you so low, eh?" he asked, reaching down to ruffle his hair.

Methos scowled at him for it, but got up and fixed his clothes. He winced as the material touched his very sore butt.

_And I thought the backscratcher had been rough, _he thought wincing.

Just then, the door opened and Mac came in followed by Richie and Kenny.

"These two have something to say to you," he told him, pushing the two younger boys forward.

"We're sorry, Methos," Richie said.

"Guess we shouldn't have jumped you," Kenny said, not meeting his eyes.

"S'okay," he told the, reaching to ruffle their heads. "I overreacted a bit, too."

"Still friends?" Richie asked, hopefully.

Methos nodded. "Yep," he said, "still friends."

"Thank goodness," Conner said, smirking. "I'd hate to see if you were enemies."

"None of us would survive," Mac said, feigning horror. "Now though, it's been a long day and time for bed."

"Which we will all be sleeping on our stomachs," the 5,000 year old muttered.

"Not all of us," Conner said, winking at Mac. He smirked back.

The three boys scowled at them and they shrugged innocently.

"Night, boys," Mac said, "and no more fighting...or else."

"Night," the three chorused at the same time.

Conner turned out the light, as the three crawled into bed, and then he and Mac headed into their own room to get to sleep.

"Hey, Methos?" Richie asked, about five minutes later.

"Yeah," Methos asked, wearily. His butt was throbbing something awful.

"Want to have a pillow fight?" the younger boy asked, hopefully.

Methos smirked. Conner _had_ said he needed to act more like a kid.

"Catch, Brat!"

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	19. Good News

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 year old teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 19: Good News**

Early the next morning, the phone rang just as Mac was coming out of the shower.

Conner, who was already dressed, answered it and then held it out to him.

"Who is it?" the younger Highlander asked, curiously. He took the phone from his kinsman.

"Joe," Conner replied, standing up. "I'll go get the boys up and moving. He headed into the next room.

Mac watched him go and then put the phone up to his ear. "Hello," he spoke into the receiver.

"Mac, thanks goodness I found you," Joe's voice sounded down the line.

"I sent you a message where we'd be," the Highlander told him, "didn't you get it?"

"Just now," the Watcher said, sounded irritated. "That stupid bartender of mine only just remembered to tell me..."

"Oh," Mac said, understanding, "what's so important, then?"

"We may have found a lead on a Cronus Stone," Joe told him. "It's in Prague."

"Does it belong to another Immortal?" Mac asked, wondering if this was another person like Rebecca—who had been entrusted with keeping the mystical stone safe.

"Yeah," Joe said, "but as far as I know he's one of the good ones."

"Who is he?" Mac asked, curiously.

"His first name is Stephen," Joe said, "not really sure about a last name. He's a priest."

"Like Darius," Mac said, smiling.

"His Watcher says he's worn a particular crystal under his habit for as long as he's been Watching him," he said, "but he wouldn't ever say what it was. From his description though, it sounds like what we're looking for."

Mac nodded. "That's great," he said, "we'll head to Prague and check it out. Got an address?"

"Sure," Joe said, "got a pen?"

Mac wrote down the address. "Thanks, Joe," he said.

"You're welcome," the Watcher said, "how are things with the boys?"

Mac chuckled. "They woke us up in the middle of the night having a pillow fight," he told him. "Answer your question."

Joe burst out laughing. "_Methos—_Mr. Grim and Serious—was involved in a _pillow fight_!? Well, if miracles never cease!"

"You wouldn't have found it so funny if it was you having to break it up at three in the morning," the Highlander grumbled.

"No, guess not," Joe agreed, sounding sympathetic. "Listen, Mac, just be careful. Okay? We don't really know what we're up against here, you know?"

Mac nodded. "I know," he said, sounding just as concerned, "and we will."

"Take care and watch your head," Joe told him. "Bye, Mac."

"Bye, Joe," Mac said, and then heard the phone click. He hung up his own phone.

"Good news?" Conner asked, coming in with all three boys following behind.

"Yep," he said, smiling.

"And?" Methos asked, rolling his eyes. "Plannin' to keep us in suspense or what?"

Conner reached over and bopped him on the back of the head.

"Hey!" the 5,000 year old grumbled, rubbing, "What was that for?"

"Being a cheeky brat," the older Highlander told him, smirking. "Now, shut up and listen."

"Yeah, Mac," Richie said, "what did Joe want?"

"He has some good news for us," Mac told him. "He thinks he may have found one of the Cronus stones."

"Aren't they supposed to have mystical powers?" Kenny asked, curious. "I seem to remember hearing about them from someone."

Mac nodded. "Yes, and it was one that altered Richie and Methos' appearances," he explained. "My friend Joe has been trying to track another one down for us."

"Think this will turn us back?" Methos asked, raising an eyebrow.

The younger Highlander shrugged. "Don't know," he answered, truthfully, "but there's only one way to find out."

Conner nodded. "Where is it?" he asked, curious.

"Prague," Mac told him, "around the neck of an Immortal Priest."

"Like Darius?" Richie asked, smiling.

Mac nodded, reaching down to ruffle the boy's hair. "Yep," he said, "just like Darius."

"Well then," Conner said, rubbing his hands together. "Boys, pack your bags..."

"...we're going to Prague!"

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	20. The Quickening

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 year old teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 20: The Quickening**

Prague was an ancient city.

Its age seemed to seep from it, a reminder of its old—_very_—old history.

"I've never liked Prague," Methos grumbled, as the five Immortals made their way to the address Joe had given Mac.

"Brings back bad memories?" Conner asked, curiously.

The oldest living teenager shrugged. "Most of my memories are bad ones," he told him, truthfully.

"These any worse than usual?" the older Highlander asked, draping an arm around his shoulders.

"Not particularly," Methos said. "A woman I knew—and loved—was killed here, that's all."

"Ah," Conner said, understanding. He didn't comment, knowing nothing more needed to be said.

"Do you really think this crystal will turn us back?" Richie asked Mac, as he they walked side by side.

Mac glanced down at him and placed a hand on his head. "Not sure, Rich," he told him, truthfully.

"Oh," Richie said, seemingly disappointed. What was wrong with him?

He should have been excited, thrilled even, at the chance to return to his normal size, but for some strange reason he wasn't.

Why was that?

He couldn't...he couldn't possibly want to stay a kid, could he?

He glanced up at Mac. Who was he kidding?

With the Highlander as a dad, who wouldn't want to stay a kid a forever?

He sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"Tired, Tough Guy?" Mac asked, concerned.

"Not really," the boy answered, "just thinkin', that's all."

"Don't think too hard," Mac teased, rubbing the top of his head, "otherwise you might hurt something."

"Hey," Richie said, wrinkling his nose, "are you making fun of me?"

Mac chuckled. "Maybe," he said, "what if I am?"

The boy smirked. "Then I'd have to challenge you," he said, pantomiming swishing a sword.

"Oh no, anything but that," the Highlander said, laughing.

"Yeah, Duncan would hate to be shown up by a little upstart like you, Rich," Conner said, smiling wickedly. "It'd injure his delicate ego..."

Mac scowled at his clansman. "How about I damage your delicate ass," he growled at his older kinsman.

Conner smirked. "You're welcome to try," he told him.

"Humph," Mac grumbled, snorting. "No one likes a show off, Conner."

"Nor a braggert," the older Highlander replied, nonplussed. "Thank goodness I'm neither, eh?"

"Uh huh," Mac said, showing just what he thought of _that._

"You know," Kenny said, "we could all be walking into a trap right now and you all are acting like this is just another day at the park."

"Oh, please," Methos said, rolling his eyes, "like there's anyone out there capable of getting the drop on the three of us. Conner and Mac are two of the finest swordsmen in the world and I've lived more lives than most...I've seen every form of ambush there is."

"Over confidence will get you killed," the eight hundred year old boy replied. "Trust me, I know."

"Guess you learned that from all those poor fools you murdered, huh?" the world's oldest teenager stated, sneering.

"I had to survive," Kenny defended himself. "I never said I enjoyed it."

"Coulda fooled us," Richie muttered, rolling his eyes.

"All right," Mac said, firmly, "put a sock in it, you three. We're almost there."

The three boys, wisely, shut their mouths.

They arrived at the address; which, naturally, was a chapel, and went inside.

Upon entering, they discovered that they didn't sense another Immortal anywhere nearby.

"Excuse me," Conner spoke to a man in a habit, "but we are looking for Father Stephen, could you tell us where he is?"

The man blinked, surprised that he had spoken in his native tongue.

"He mentioned something about an errand," the man replied, in rough English. "He did not say when he would return."

Conner nodded. "Thank you," he said, and joined the others.

"Damn it," Methos swore, ignoring the glares from the priest, patrons, and two Scotsmen sent his way.

"C'mon," Mac said, ushering them back. "We'll come back another time."

"What if that 'errand' was a challenge?" the 5,000 year old stated. "Just because he is a priest, doesn't mean he follows the same creed as Darius."

"I know that," the younger Highlander growled, "but we have no way of knowing for sure unless—"

He stopped, as a sensation like an electric shock washed over him. From the looks on their faces, the others felt it too.

"A Quickening," Conner said, gulping. "Close by, too."

"Over there," Methos stated, positively. He pointed to a clump of woods just behind the chapel.

"Let's go check it out," Richie suggested, his eyes wide.

"Conner and I will go," Mac told him. "You three get your butts back in that church and stay there."

"I'm not helpless, MacLeod," Methos growled, angrily.

"He knows that," Conner told him, "but we need you to keep an eye on these two and make sure they don't follow us."

Methos sighed. "Fine," he grumbled, "c'mon, Brats. Back inside." He started ushering the other two back into the chapel.

Once they were inside, Mac and Conner raced into the nearby stand of trees.

It did not take them long to find the site of the Quickening.

"Damn it!" Mac swore loudly, upon seeing the decapitated body.

It was wearing the habit of a priest and a crucifix...but not crystal.

"It seems," Conner stated, raising an eyebrow, "someone has beaten us to it."

Mac nodded, glancing around. "Whoever it was made a quick getaway, too," he growled, angrily.

His older kinsman placed a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon," he said, "we need to call the police and then head back to the hotel."

"What are we gonna do now, Conner?" Mac asked him, helplessly.

Conner shrugged. "Not sure," he said, "let's go talk to the boys and see what they want to do. This should be their decision, Duncan, not ours."

Mac nodded.

Together, they turned and headed back for the chapel.

TBC...

_HighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlanderHighlander_


	21. Little Immortals

**Highlander**

"**Little Immortals"**

**Summary:**Richie has a 'little' accident. Can Duncan cope raising a seven year old Immortal...especially one as reckless, impulsive, and smart-assed as Richard H. Ryan?

Methos has a 'little' mishap and Connor is enlisted to help out with him. Can he handle a sarcastic, rude, and generally bratty 5,000 year old teenager?

**Author's Note:** This takes place any time after season 3.

**Warning:**SPANKING!!!!! DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ.

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own these characters. I just wrote this story for fun._

**Chapter 21: 'Little' Immortals**

Back at their hotel room, the five Immortals sat down to talk.

"So, the priest is dead and his crystal stolen," Methos restated what they knew, "but the question is, by who?"

"And why?" Richie said. "It had to be someone who knows about the Cronus stones, right?"

"Possibly," Conner told him, "or it could have been someone who likes to take something off the bodies of their enemies have beheading them—as a sort of trophy."

"Either way," Mac stated, "we have no idea who it was or where he went."

"What about that old guy, Joe?" Kenny asked. "Couldn't he find out?"

"Probably," Mac said, "and I bet Father Stephen's Watcher would be able to i.d. the one who took his head. I'll give him a call."

He made the call. Joe did indeed know who it was that had stolen the crystal.

"I know him," Methos realized, stunned at the decription Joe had given.

"Who is he?" Mac asked, puzzled.

"H-His name is Kronus," Methos said, "a-and he was my eldest brother."

"Your brother?" Richie asked, confused.

"The leader of the Four Horsemen," the oldest living teenager explained. "He was the most ruthless, blood-thirstiest of us all."

"And no doubt hasn't changed any," Conner said, sighing.

"So, what do we do?" Richie asked, wide-eyed.

The two clansmen looked at each other, a seemingly silence message passing between them.

Methos stood up, not bothering to wait for their decision. "I'm going after him," he stated. "Kronus is a en evil son of a bitch and there's no telling what he's planning. He must be stopped."

"You just plan to scourer the globe in search of him?" Conner asked, raising an eyebrow.

"People will get suspicious about a fifteen year old travelling all over creation alone," Mac reminded him.

"Like I give a damn!" Methos exploded, angrily. "He...MUST...BE...STOPPED!"

"We agree," Conner told him, firmly, "but you're not going after him alone. I'm going with you."

"I don't need a baby sitter, Conner," Methos growled.

"Trust me, you do," the older Highlander told him, smirking, "and besides we don't know for sure this Kronus character is working alone or not. Are there any more of your brothers still alive?"

"Just Silas, I think," Methos told him. "He and Kronus were hardly ever apart, come to think of it."

"Uh huh," Conner smirked. "There you go. I'm going and that's the end of it."

"Humph," the 5,000 year old grumbled, "this sucks."

"Now you sound just like me!" Richie exclaimed, smirking.

"Oh God, just kill me now," the oldest Immortal groaned, "I've turned into a Brat!"

"Got that right," Mac said, laughing.

"What about us?" Kenny asked, glancing at the younger Highlander. "We going with them?"

Mac glanced at him and then at Richie. "No, I think we'll be heading home," he said, firmly.

"Why, Mac?" Richie asked, puzzled. He did want to go home, but...

"Because, something tells me this will be too dangerous" Mac told him, "and I want you both as far from the danger as you possibly can be. We're going back to Seacover."

"What we supposed to do once we get there?" Kenny asked, rolling his eyes at him.

"Be kids," Mac stated, firmly. "Maybe, we'll enroll the two of you in school."

"School!" Richie yelped. "Ah, c'mon, Mac!"

"It never hurts to review stuff, Rich," Mac told him, smirking, "and from what I remember you told me you were 'smart, but lazy'. This time you'll be smart but quick, otherwise you're gonna find sitting down a distant memory."

"Ah, man," Richie muttered, "this sucks." He paused, blushing.

Methos gave him a very pointed look.

"Don't even say it," Richie growled at him.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Brat," Methos told him, smirking.

"So," Conner said, "it seems—for now—you two will remain 'little' Immortals."

"Seems like," Methos said, sighing.

"It's okay," Richie stated, smiling. "Somehow, being a little Immortal is all right by me."

Mac glanced at him in surprise, but then smiled.

"Somehow," he said, ruffling the boys head, "it's all right by me too."

"Oh, give me a break," Kenny snorted, rolling his eyes.

"You said it," Methos agreed.

And so, the 'little' Immortals would remain little a little while longer.

But that was all right by them.

At least, for now.

The End...for now.

Sequel forthcoming...


End file.
